


like music to my ears

by absoluteTomfoolery



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual Lance (Voltron), CoWorkers to Friends to Lovers, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Gay Keith (Voltron), Gay Shiro (Voltron), Group chat, Hunk is a good friend, Japanese Shiro (Voltron), Korean Keith (Voltron), Lesbian Allura (Voltron), Modern AU, Multi, Music AU, Music Industry AU, Pansexual Hunk (Voltron), SO, Samoan Hunk (Voltron), Singer AU, Slow Burn, Social Media AU, Texting, Twitter, University, adam works at the company as the secretary, allura is the producer, and lotor is signed under it, coran is the vocal coach and manager, i can never stay away from group chat shit i radiate dumb bitch energy, keith does remixes, lance is a famous singer & dancer, musical artist au, musician au, pidge just goes to school, shiro is lance's idol and under allura's label, this also includes social media, zarkon has a label too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-22 03:09:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15572382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absoluteTomfoolery/pseuds/absoluteTomfoolery
Summary: ... However, Lance was still young, and still in school-- sessions at the recording studio had to be scheduled around classes and midterms and finals and papers and boring, boring work. But he was living his dream, living with his best friend, and nothing could topple his excitement.Then, one evening, he found the strangest thing trending on YouTube.





	1. dance with me

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I'm back with a new work! I hope you enjoy it!!

Lance McClain was born on July 28th, 1997, to Rosaura McClain and Miguel McClain. He has four siblings, two sisters and two brothers. He grew up in Varadero, Cuba, and enjoys swimming, surfing, and singing.

 _Singing_. Lance McClain loved to sing. In choir class at school, he was the star pupil. And, when he moved to the United States, his parents immediately shoved him in vocal classes, hoping they could milk his talent for all its worth-- maybe a gig or two at a cafe or something when he was older.

They didn’t think anything of leaving him with Coran Hieronymous Wimbleton Smythe-- they figured a long name meant prestige, and his school charged cheap. However, what they hadn’t known was that he had been a world-famous opera singer back in the 70s and 80s. They hadn't known that his niece, Allura Altea, was to inherit Altean Records, an up and coming production company based in Los Angeles. And they hadn't known Lance's vocal coach had already slipped a sample of the boy's voice to his niece.

It took a few years of training to actually be good enough to send Allura a demo, not to mention the amount of literary training necessary to write songs. Coran wanted Lance to be as self-sufficient as he was talented-- Los Angeles was a tough environment to compete in. He was constantly practicing and dedicating his time to perfecting his skill on the guitar, as well, and often missed out on the common scholastic activities everyone his age seemed to enjoy. Being a teenager and trying to become a star wasn't easy.

His grades certainly would’ve suffered throughout high school if he hadn’t met Hunk Garrett. They became fast friends, best friends, and stuck together through everything-- through Lance realizing he wasn’t so straight, through Hunk’s mom divorcing his dad and then remarrying a woman, through the death of Lance's grandmother, and even through college acceptance.

Coran had suggested he choose a university in Los Angeles, and he did, but he hadn’t been expecting Hunk to do the same. If anything, Hunk had mentioned his first option was the University of Florida in Gainesville, so when he ran to Lance’s house and screamed about how he also got accepted into USC, he was the happiest he had ever been. Until, of course, he got a call from Ms. Altea herself, and _that_ was the happiest he had ever been. 

His career began that summer he moved to L.A., with Coran as his manager, and has been rising slowly ever since. A couple of his songs landed on the radio, and his very favorite, _Dance With Me_ , his pride and joy, made it onto the US Top 100-- he found out on the eve of his 21st birthday, and so obviously the party that followed was wild and extravagant.

However, he was still young, and still in school-- sessions at the recording studio had to be scheduled around classes and midterms and finals and papers and boring, boring work. But he was living his dream, living with his _best friend_ , and nothing could topple his excitement.

Then, one evening, he found the strangest thing trending on YouTube.

He had been lying on his couch in his apartment, Hunk making dinner in the kitchen, the TV playing one of his best friend's home renovation shows at a low volume as he updated his Twitter.

 

 

 

> **Lance McClain** _@lanceylance_
> 
> **“Imagine being heterosexual in 2018. Sad!”**
> 
> _256 Replies -- 2.4K Retweets -- 3.5K Likes_

 

That was one of the benefits to being a lesser-known artist, he guessed-- he could upload shit like that on Twitter and Perez Hilton wouldn’t care, not that anyone’s checked his website since, like, 2006.

He had just gotten home from a session at Allura’s recording studio, belting his ass off for his newest release, _Someday_. Sure, _Dance With Me_ was his pride and joy because it landed on the charts, but this newest song really struck a chord with him. He wasn’t particularly emotional in daily life (though anyone that’s seen him and his dramatics would say otherwise) but when it came to songwriting, he put in 110% of his effort. He wanted what he was saying to mean something to his audience, even if it was something as mindless as a song about dancing with him. He wanted his songs to sound dreamy and passionate and to actually  _say_ something, but not everybody liked things that  _said_ something. His most simple and repetitive song is the one that hit hard, and even if he loved it, he had to admit he was a little disappointed by it.

But  _Someday_ was about finding his soulmate, about _someday_ being able to hold them in his arms and know they were his and he was theirs. It was a lonely song, and a slow one, but he was sure it’d be a hit. In fact, it was set to release pretty soon-- he hadn’t announced it yet.

After he tweeted, he went on YouTube to check for a new episode of one of the shows he frequently watched-- a series based on investigating unsolved crimes and supernatural activity -- before he accidentally tapped on the trending page. And then, that’s when he saw it.

 

 

 

> **_Lance McClain’s Dance With Me but it doesn’t sound like shit_**
> 
> _3:18 --_ _1.5M views_

 

He had to do a double-take, and then he closed the app, then opened it again just to read the title one more time. Did… did _Dance With Me_ sound like shit? I mean, sure, it was pretty empty of meaning and the music was simple, but his voice wasn’t that bad, right? This was _so rude_ ! _Oh my god, it’s trending. 1.5 million people think this song sounds like shit._ He thought, and he groaned, sliding back down on the couch. _I should just crawl in a hole and die. I’m deleting myself. Goodnight, world._

“Lance, you okay? Dinner’s ready.” Hunk chimed from the kitchen.

Lance huffed and sat up. “No, Hunk, I’m _devastated_. Have you checked what’s trending on YouTube?”

“Actually, no, I’ve been studying all day. We have a test tomorrow, remember? What’s trending on YouTube?” his best friend asked, and he began serving the eggs on two white ceramic plates nearby.

Lance got up and stalked over to the kitchen, showing Hunk what read on his iPhone’s screen. Then, Hunk let out a snort, and he turned away so he didn’t spit all over their food or Lance’s face.

“Wha-- Hunk, that’s not funny! This asshole’s video is trending about _my_ number one song! My career is dead!” Lance exclaimed, and he fell to his knees, clutching his phone to his chest dramatically. “What am I gonna _do_?”

“W-… Well, Lance, have you tried listening to it?” Hunk managed to choke out between laughs, scooting around his best friend’s defeated form on the ground. “I mean, maybe it’s trending because it’s good, not because he’s making fun of you."

“Whoever this _Emo Cowboy_ guy is, he’s getting a call from my _lawyer_!” the Cuban exclaimed.

“Lance, what lawyer? Sit down and eat your food before it gets cold.” his best friend chided. “Your career isn’t over-- if anything, now 1.5M more people know your name. Sometimes parodies are great publicity, aren’t they?”

Lance sat down at their dinner table and poked at his food. “I… I guess.”

“It’ll be fine, Lance. Don’t worry about it.”

But Lance _did_ worry about it. And, right before he went to put his sleeping mask on and call it a night, he watched _Emo Cowboy’s_ video. And, surprisingly, it was good.

Actually, it was really, _really_ good.

He added a better beat to the song, changed the flow of the whole thing and made it slower, adjusted the pitch, and even added some piano details in there. And, for a few moments, at the very peak of the music, he thought he heard a second voice layered in there-- but he couldn’t tell. The point was, this new version of _Dance With Me_ was a masterpiece. It sounded like what he wanted  _all_ of his songs to sound like. Smooth, enticing, a little bit seductive.

And yeah, he felt a little bit inadequate. He felt like he was robbed, like somebody was taking credit for his hardwork; and yet… he also _didn’t_ ? He felt, rather, like somebody grabbed a cake he was making, tossed it in the trash, did the exact same he did but _better_ , and everyone loved it. And yeah, being an artist new to the limelight was pretty hard, this wasn’t his first disappointment after all, but it felt different. He felt like, even though he was barely at the start of his career, it had already crashed and ended.

Or maybe he was being overdramatic. Maybe this would all blow over and it wouldn’t matter tomorrow, and his career would still be intact. Maybe. Hopefully.

Lance had an uneasy sleep that night...

...but tomorrow would be so much worse.

* * *

 

 

>  
> 
> **_(4/13/18)_ **
> 
> **Mi Reina ❤❤❤**
> 
> **-**
> 
> **Mi Reina:** lance i need you to come by my office once youre done with your classes
> 
> **Lance:**??? no recording? We still need to polish the new song
> 
> **Mi Reina:** this isnt about the new song, but its important
> 
> **Lance:** what???
> 
> _Read 9:58 A.M._
> 
>  -
> 
>  

He was on edge the whole day after that short conversation, remembering the video he had seen the night before. Had Allura seen it, too? Was she just as disappointed as he was? Or maybe she realized that  _Emo Cowboy_ was right, that his song _was_ shit?

Of course he was right. His song was shit, his voice was shit, now his  _grades_ were gonna be shit because he didn’t  _study_ like he  _should’ve_ and everything was going to  _shit_ and he hated!  _Hated!_  Being alive!

But the test was easier than he had hoped, and he aced it, so that was  _some_ consolation. Hunk also did really well, and seeing his best friend happy about that was consolation, too. And getting his daily smoothie at the University cafe wasn't that bad, either.

He was sitting down at the library, waiting for Hunk to arrive, when a short girl came up to his table and set her stuff down, taking a seat with jittery hands. Lance looked up at her from his laptop, gaze expectant, but she just nodded at him in greeting and looked around, searching for someone.

She wore a green flannel with a black tank underneath, and she had short, light-brown hair and round, golden glasses that sat on top of freckled cheeks. She was pretty, sure, and call it mlm-wlw solidarity, but he knew in his heart she wasn’t straight. He could  _feel it._ He would’ve actually spoken up and  _asked_ her why she sat down, but then Hunk arrived, and that idea went out the window as soon as his best friend greeted  _her_ first. “Hey! I see you’ve met Lance.”

Lance opened his mouth to finally say something, but she beat him to it. “Yeah. He’s not very talkative.”

Hunk furrowed his eyebrows while Lance gaped and made an arrangement of choking noises. “Lance? No way, he’s super talkative.”

“W-Well she just sat down, she didn’t even introduce herself, she just, like… got here. I didn’t--”

“And you didn’t greet her? Say hi? How rude, Lance,” Hunk chided. There was a teasing glint to his eye, and Pidge joined in with a smirk, while Lance kept trying to register what was going on. He didn’t know if it was Allura’s ominous text or his shame from the video or  _what_ , but he didn’t really feel like joining in on the teasing.

Instead, he sighed and turned back to his laptop. He had been monitoring his social media for any changes that signaled his poetic downfall, but there was only a slow and gradual increase of followers and retweets, the usual. Nothing new, nothing alarming. He did, however, investigate this  _Emo Cowboy_ person. His YouTube channel was filled with remixes of popular songs, and as of late he’s been acquiring a larger following. All of his videos were titled similarly to his, for example,  _Robin Thicke’s Blurred Lines but it doesn’t make me wanna die, so no lyrics_ , which was clever and witty, he’ll give him that. However,  _Emo Cowboy_ didn’t seem to have any other social media linked to his channel. No Twitter, no Tumblr, not even a Facebook page. Nothing. And it didn’t seem like he interacted much with his subscribers, either, he couldn’t find his face anywhere. Very detached.

He didn’t know why he was so hung up on this, anyway. Of course he had people that didn’t like his music, who didn’t? His  _haterz_ , as lovingly brandished by Hunk, didn’t matter that much to him when it came to what he wanted his music to sound like. But what he heard the night before was  _good_ , no,  _great_ ; it was the type of music he was afraid to make for his fear that nobody would like it.

But somebody beat him to the punch, and got all the credit. That  _sucked_.

“Hey, Lance, you listening?”

The boy in question looked up and saw both Pidge and Hunk staring at him with curious eyes. “Huh? Yeah, what’s up?”

“You were zoned out there for a bit, buddy.” Hunk gave his best friend an understanding smile. “We were talking about the new kid in our Physics class, Keith. He’s got, like, the best grades out of all of us.”

“Yeah, I know Keith. His older brother, Shiro, is best friends with my older brother, Matt.” Pidge replied. “We don’t really talk. He’s kind of distant and, like, emo.”

Lance was about to go back to his research before he paused. “ _Shiro?_ ”

The girl raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m not getting you tickets.”

The Cuban gaped, and his face burned hot. “Y-You know  _Takashi Shirogane?_ Oh my  _god_!”

“Wh… is that the Shiro you’re always talking about, Lance?” asked Hunk, and he looked between the two, perplexed.

“He’s my  _idol_ , Hunk, my  _icon_. He’s so  _cool_! He’s signed under Altean Records just like me, but his music is  _so_ good and he doesn’t care if he gets on the charts but he always  _does_ and he met  _Ellen_ and his prosthetic arm is  _so_ Viktoria Modesta and-- oh my god, oh my god. I’ve begged Allura to let me meet him but it never happens!” Lance rambled on and on about how cool he thought Shiro was for a good ten minutes, Pidge and Hunk exchanging various expressions of  _wow, he_ is  _really talkative._

“So, Altean Records, huh? Didn’t know you were famous, Lance.” the girl said. “You’ve got songs out?”

He remembered the video from last night, and his happy expression faltered for only a second before he forced it to return. “Uh, yeah, but I mean… it-it’s not that, like, good, so--”

“One of Lance’s songs made it to the Top 100. I’d say that’s a  _huge_ accomplishment, and I doubt it’ll be his last time on there.” Hunk gushed. He nudged his best friend’s elbow, but the other didn’t seem to be having it. “He’s just being modest.”

“That’s… pretty cool. Now I can say I know  _two_ superstars.” Pidge said.

Lance let out a weak chuckle, and his mind returned to Allura’s message. His last class was gonna start soon, and he’d have to head to her office as soon as it ended. Already he felt the tension snake its way down his body.  _My career is so_ dead  _._

* * *

The  _Altean Records_ building was a three-floor, modern-looking building downtown that was just a couple blocks down from school. The inside was slightly outdated (but Allura had mentioned wanting to fix that) and inside were several recording studios. At the front desk was their secretary, Adam, who always lifted the ugly Christmas mug he received from him as a gift in greeting every time he entered. This time, however, Lance stopped to actually ask him something.

“Hey, Adam, have you seen Allura today?”

"Yep. Boss is in her office sorting out paperwork. Lost one of our own today, so she's writing it in."

Lance grimaced. "Did she look upset or anything?"

Adam chuckled and drank from his coffee, some of the steam from the drunk fogging up his glasses. “Nah. She was actually chatting with Shiro's little brother earlier. Why? Did she call you into her office?”

He nodded, and Adam reached up to offer an encouraging ruffling of his hair. “Relax, kid. You’ll be fine. I have a feeling.”

The boy didn’t feel very assured by that, but thanked him anyway, and continued into the building. How strange for Adam to mention Shiro's younger brother--  _OMG maybe Shiro's in the building? --_ when he had been the topic of conversation earlier that day. Still, he didn't pay very much mind to it, and returned to the task at hand.

Lance stepped into the elevators, pressing the  _3_  button with a frown. He recorded on the second floor, but he wasn’t stopping there today-- Allura’s office was on the third.

As always, going up to the third floor was a scary venture, not because he was necessarily  _afraid_ of Allura or Coran, but because he never went up there, and like a kid, it was like going into the teacher’s lounge in elementary. You weren’t prohibited by  _law_ to be there, and sometimes you  _needed_ to be there, but every time you set foot through the door you immediately thought you entered another dimension.

Or maybe it was just him and his nerves. Yeah, that was probably it.

Nonetheless, he slowly made his way to Allura’s space, which was a large, windowed room at the very end of the floor. It was separated from the rest of the wide space by tall glass wall panels, and was very modern and sleek in its decoration. Beside it was Coran's office, which was dark and curtained.  _He's probably home right now._  Right before was a seating area, and on once couch sat a guy in a black bomber and red t-shirt, cap covering his face and eyes trained on his phone.

The woman Lance was looking for was sitting at her desk, shuffling through some papers before she saw him opening the doors. As soon as their eyes met she smiled warm, and nodded towards one of the two chairs in front of her desk. “ _Lonce_ , thanks for coming. I hope I didn’t scare you this morning-- I was going to reply, but then I dropped my phone and it broke. I had to get a new one this morning.” She held up her device, now an iPhone instead of the Samsung she used to have. “It was about time I made the switch, anyway.”

He laughed, and he felt all of the tension leave his body. Maybe this wasn’t gonna be so bad. “Yeah, it  _was_. I’ve been telling you how much better Apple is than Samsung for  _years_.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about something really important.” she began. “I fired Rolo.”

“You… you what?” He hadn’t been expecting that. Rolo, who engineered, mastered, and mixed  _all_  of his songs was  _fired_? He was an awesome one-man show! He took care of  _everything_! And he was easy to get along with, too. “Why?”

Allura leaned forward and the look in her eye made shivers crawl up Lance’s back. He didn’t like that glint in her eyes. “Because I found someone better.”

She turned to her computer and her fingers flew across the keyboard; she pulled up YouTube, and clicked on the same video he had seen the night before. “This guy needs to be on our team.”

Lance gaped at her. “Wh…  _Him_?! He  _slandered_ my song! He called it  _shit_ , Allura! My  _baby_!” The boy groaned. This wasn’t happening. This  _couldn’t_ be happening. He’d  _never_ get along with that  _Emo Cowboy,_ whoever the hell he was. There was no way. Fat chance. “You fired Rolo for some guy we don’t even know?”

“Actually, I did a little bit of research and asking around, and it turns out one of our stars is actually  _related_ to him.” she said, and she stood up to move for her doors, poking her head out and turning to the guy sitting in one of the chairs outside  _No, no, god no._ Lance thought. “Keith, would you mind coming in for a second?”

As  _Emo Cowboy_ walked into the office, Lance’s brain moved at 100 miles per hour, connecting dots, imaginary mathematical equations floating around his head. Keith. Related to one of the people signed onto Altean Records. Emo. Los Angeles. Shiro. Shiro's  _little brother_. It all made sense. It was like the world’s most sublime and terrifying nightmare.

Keith sat down on the chair beside Lance, had a horrified look on his tanned face, but he just looked straight at Allura.  _Yeah, avoid eye contact. Be afraid._ The Cuban thought. “ _Lonce_ , this is Keith Kogane. He is your  _new_ Engineer-slash-Mixer-slash-Master…-er. We're delaying the release of your new song so he can work on it.”

The room was silent as the words rang in Lance's head. Then, finally...

" _What!?"_


	2. the emo cowboy

This… This was not what Lance thought was going to happen. No, this was not how he thought things were going to go at all. He’d rather take his career being shot down by Nicki Minaj in a driveby than this utter and complete humiliation. Never in his life had he ever felt this ashamed, this embarrassed, not even when Jenny Shaybon shot him down in front of the entire cafeteria. This… this was new levels of low.

“ _Lonce_ , why are you yelling? Have you not seen his work?” Allura insisted, and this time she had her stern, princessy face on, eyebrows furrowed and British accent to the max. “He completely transformed your music. You told me when you first signed that you wanted your sound to be dynamic and layered and expressive and _good._ His work is  _good_. He is extensively trained and taught, particularly by one of our own, and he can take your music where you want it to go.”

“I’m not working with him. Sorry, Allura, there’s no way.” Lance stood up and grabbed his backpack, yanking it on.

“Fine.” Finally Keith spoke. “I wouldn’t want to work with you anyway. Sounds like your personality is just like your music-- _shallow_.” he spat.

Lance froze. That… _hurt_. That hurt a lot. His worst fear, actually, was for his music to be shallow. He worked so hard to put in the meaning he wanted, to make the songs that people would want to dance to at their wedding or think about when they need a pick me up or just… just be something special. And there he sat, dressed in red and black, the embodiment of his failure.

He pretended he didn’t hear because he didn’t have some witty reply, and instead he continued storming out, down the elevator and past Adam, who tried to call his attention. He didn’t want anyone to see the tears that stung in the corners of his eyes. He failed at music, his one dream. But then, he bumped into someone just on his way out, making him stumble backwards onto the stone steps of the building. “God, watch where you’re going ma--”

Lance felt the world stop. Standing right outside the building, looking as casual as a god in sweatpants, stood _The_ Takashi Shirogane. Five chart-topping hits, three platinum albums, two AMAs, and a _Grammy_  right in front of him. And he was watching him cry, probably thinking _yikes, he’s_ that _sensitive_?

His luck has hit a new low.

“Sorry about that. You alright?” Shiro offered his left arm, which Lance gladly took, and hoisted him up with a surprising amount of force-- gentle force, but force. His muscles certainly weren't a lie.

The boy dusted himself off and swallowed, looking down. This was that _demon’s_ older brother-- how could an angel, an icon, a _god_ be related to that little _goblin man_? “Sorry, uh, sorry--”

“Hey, you’re… you’re Lance, right?” The man asked, and he extended his left hand again for a handshake. “Allura’s told me a lot about you. It’s nice to finally meet! I’m Shiro.”

Lance shook his hand with a smile, a deep, embarrassed blush on his cheeks. “Oh, nice to meet you too! I’m, uh, a big fan.” _He probably knows that already. Who isn’t his fan? Nobody. Everybody loves Shiro._

“Say, thanks. I’m just heading in to grab some stuff I forgot. I’m always forgetting things here, haha. I’ll see you around, yeah? Don’t be a stranger.” Shiro clapped Lance on his back, nearly sending him flying, before disappearing in through the glass doors. Quietly, he watched as Shiro greeted Adam then headed inside-- and the latter man physically _swooned_.

* * *

 When Lance got home, he refused to do anything except lay down on his bed and cry. He didn’t want to update his Twitter or his Tumblr or his Instagram or anything, he didn’t even feel like watching anything on Netflix, which was usually how his afternoons went. He hated to admit it, but what Keith said actually left a mark.

He didn’t _want_ his music to be shallow. He wanted to write sad songs that _hurt_ people, happy songs that made you wanna dance, love songs that made you yearn for your soulmate. Why couldn’t he just… do that? Why did he have to make shallow songs? Was it because he really _was_ shallow?

Keith said his song was shit, and 1.5 million people (and counting, probably) agreed with him. This wasn't really about it being the end of his career-- he feels like his music is a reflection of who he is. And is he… _shit_? Is he shallow? _Am I even suited for this type of career anymore?_

He knew he was thinking himself into a hole again. He knew it was all in his head, that his anxiety was probably just acting up, that he only needed a nap and maybe some food to clear his head. But that sour taste in his mouth just wouldn’t go away.

He did end up falling asleep, and woke up at around 11 PM. Luckily for him he didn’t have any classes on Saturday, so he could afford to stay up late and sleep in; but what actually woke him up was a text from Allura. _She’s probably gonna tell me to meet her at the office tomorrow so she can tear our contract in front of me._

>  
> 
> **Mi Reina ❤❤❤**
> 
> **-**
> 
> **Mi Reina:** I’m sorry about today Lance
> 
> **Mi Reina:** I should’ve talked to you about this first privately
> 
> **Mi Reina:** Please remember I am not just your producer, I’m your friend
> 
> **Mi Reina:** I chose Keith because I genuinely feel he’ll really help you
> 
> **Mi Reina:** But if you think you won’t be able to produce the music you want with him on your team
> 
> **Mi Reina:** I’ll do my best to get Rolo back or find someone else
> 
> **Mi Reina:** But please give Keith a shot. Maybe listen to his stuff online?
> 
> **Mi Reina:** Sorry again.
> 
> -

 

Lance felt tears prick at his eyes again. He knew how important Altean Records was to Allura-- it had been her father’s company before he died, and he knew that every gamble she took was because she genuinely believed it would help the company and her artists. He knew she did it to help, because she of all people understood how much his music meant to him.

He remembered how Allura would visit her uncle in Florida during her vacations, how she would encourage him to keep practicing and getting better. He remembered how his only dream back then was to be able to make music alongside her, become a star and stand up on a stage and accept an award and credit all of the people he loved. He knew she knew that, and he knew she thought that hiring Keith would help him get there. And he had to be honest-- for a brief moment, he had thought the same thing.

But _ugh_ , that Keith guy seemed _impossible_ to work with. If he was in his shoes, he wouldn’t work with someone whose music he thought shallow. He wouldn’t even touch him with a 10-foot pole. So why would Keith even entertain the idea of working with him? He acted like Lance was _below_ him, in fact. Like it’d be an _honor_ for _Lance_ to be in the _capable hands_ of _Keith Kogane._

“Ugh, as _if_!” He groaned into his pillow. What right did he have to act so high and mighty anyway? His stuff probably wasn’t even that good!

 _You know what? I’m gonna watch some of his videos to see just what he’s made of, the absolute jerk._ He grabbed his laptop from his nightstand, opening the device and quickly searching for his channel. He picked out the video that would seem the least rewarding out of spite, and laid back to listen.

 

> **_Post Malone’s I Fall Apart but it doesnt sound like he hasn’t bathed in 8 days_ **
> 
> _4:00 -- 142K_

 

The edited song was left… _beautiful._ He softened the beat, made it deeper and more resonating. He got rid of the background voice effects, and brought out the piano. Long, complementary violin notes played lowly, barely detectable. And, of course, he layered voices at what seemed like the climax of the song. Lance swore he heard a voice different to Post Malone’s in the song, one that hadn't been in the original, but his mind was probably playing tricks on him.

Needless to say, he cried. And he didn’t even like Post Malone.

He stayed up until 3 AM just watching his videos-- and he had a lot of them. Some of the songs got a classical twist to them, others turned electric. And he had quirks, patterns to his remixes and edits that gave his productions a consistent, beautiful feel. He hated to admit it, but… he was good. Allura was right. He was _really_  good.

But Lance still didn’t like the guy. I mean, who would? He barely got a glance before he stormed out of Allura’s office, but the guy had a _mullet_ on his head, for god’s sake. His voice was irritating, too. And his face made him angry, inexplicably angry. He _hated_ Keith, he decided in that moment. But Keith was good. And if Allura believed in him, and Lance believed in Allura, there was only one logical option left.

* * *

 “Lance, you’re kidding.”

Hunk looked up at his best friend from the kitchen table, where his books and notebooks were splayed out. He had been studying before Lance waltzed in and interrupted him that next morning -- emphasis on _had,_ he usually enjoyed the period between 9 and 11 AM on the weekends for studying because Lance was _never_ up during that time -- and was now giving him incredulous looks.

“No, I’m not. I’m gonna have to team up with my arch-nemesis to make this song. And if it turns out well, I might…” he swallowed, trying to keep down the bile threatening to rise from his stomach. “... I might have to work with him for the album.”

Hunk grinned. “An album? Oh Lance, that’s _great_! You’re finally getting to work on an album! Three years of just EPs and singles… this is awesome!” He stood up and wrapped his best friend up in a hug that almost lifted him off the ground. “I’m happy for you, buddy.”

Lance laughed, lightly hitting Hunk’s sides so he’d put him down. “Ow, Hunk! Haha… thanks. Allura told me a while back that she wanted me to put out an album, but she wasn’t sure if I was ready. I think if I team up with Keith, even if I hate the guy, we might be able to start on that.”

Hunk sat back down and gave his best friend a funny kind of look. “I really don’t think Keith hates you as much as you hate him. Call it a hunch, but I have a feeling you’re gonna make it harder for him and than he is for you.”

With a _hmph!_ the Cuban sat down on the couch and turned on the TV. “And _I_ have a feeling if he says anything about my music again, he’ll pay for it!”

 

> **Lance McClain** _@lanceylance_
> 
> **“Sometimes you just need to put on thirteen sheet masks at once, everywhere, and then ascend into the 18th dimension of self-care.”**
> 
> _341 Replies -- 3.5K Retweets -- 4.2K Likes_
> 
>  

As he scrolled through Twitter, retweeting and liking and what have you, he suddenly got a very _interesting_ notification popping up at the very bottom of the screen.

 

> **Keith** **_(@emocowboy)_ ** **started following you.**

 

 _Oh, interesting. I didn’t think he had a twitter since he doesn’t have it linked to his YouTube._ He thought, and he immediately went to psychoanalyze his content, maybe pick it apart to see if there was anything suspicious about him.

And it was Keith, alright-- his icon was a black and white photo of audio editing software _(Lame!)_ and his header was some edgy black and white grid with _EMO COWBOY_ written across it in red _(Double lame!)_ He didn’t know if that guy was _actually_ interested in the Emo Cowboy aesthetic, whatever it consisted of, or if it was an irony sort of thing. The point is he hated it. And all of his content was retweets and likes, nothing original except a single post from 2014 that contained a caption-less photo of a hippo from the Los Angeles zoo.  He retweeted a lot of posts about Shiro, but mostly dark humor and conspiracy content-- at least they had _that_ in common, not that he’d ever let him know. But, as he was obsessively scrolling through his Twitter, he realized something. Why did Keith follow him in the first place?

 _Allura probably told him to not be so angry at me,_ he thought. _She’s always trying to make peace. She was probably like, “Oh Keith, don’t be upset, he’s just a little bit hurt by the video, but I promise he’ll get over it! Your stuff is good, and he probably knows that, too,” or something._

But should he follow back? _If I follow him back, it’ll seem like I have no dignity. I stormed out yesterday because I was trying to keep my pride. However, I could use it as a symbol of peace to let him know my feelings aren’t_ that _hurt (even though they are) and that I’m not ignoring him or anything. That I'm willing to work with him._

So Lance followed him back. And he thought he’d get, like, at _least_ a retweet, maybe a like out of thanks, but nothing. _You_ ungrateful _motherfucker. Do you know how many people would kill for me to follow them? Fifty thousand. You fucker. You absolute buffoon. You only have two thousand followers. I could crush you._

The boy huffed and sat back, crossing his arms, too angry to listen to how two brothers escaped from Alacatraz playing on the TV. “Hey, buddy?” Hunk called from the dining table, and Lance turned, anger slowly ebbing away. “I invited Pidge over, and she’s gonna bring, um, a friend. We’re gonna study for Physics.” The Samoan had a strange look on his face, to which Lance narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He didn’t like that, but Hunk’s never the one pulling shit (unlike himself) so he didn’t argue.

“Sure, yeah. I’ll be heading out to the studio in like an hour, anyway, so I won’t bother you.”

“Cool, cool.” His best friend trailed off, and Lance watched from the corner of his eye as he smiled inwardly and continued to write in his notebook.

 _He’s acting strange,_ he thought, but he shrugged and turned back to the TV. About ten minutes later, the door rang.

Hunk rushed to get up, but Lance beat him to it. “I’ve got it.” He opened the front door of his apartment wide, ready to welcome Pidge with a grin, but his smile immediately died as soon as he met Keith’s eyes. _MOTHERFUCKER_. “Y-You--!”

Pidge shoved her way in from behind Keith. “Hi Lance! Hope you don’t mind, I brought a friend.”

“I--!” He kept stammering and stuttering as Keith entered the apartment silently, giving Lance a bored look, hands shoved into the pockets of his black jacket.

The Cuban was red-faced, vibrating with shock and anger, but totally unable to say anything. This… this was unacceptable. How could this _,_ this… this… oh he couldn’t even _think_ of anything to call him because he was so mad! This had to have been what Hunk was smiling about. He was gonna give him _such_ an _earful_ as soon as Pidge and Keith left.

He followed them to the dining area where Hunk had everything set up, glaring daggers at his best friend, who only smiled innocently in response. Whatever. He was leaving for the studio soon, anyway. In fact, this was the _perfect_ excuse to head there now. 

He grabbed his phone from the couch, where Keith was sitting ( _Huh?_ ) and turned to his best friend and Pidge. “Well, in the wake of this _pleasant_ surprise, I’m headed out to work on the song. I’ll _smell_ you all later--”

“You headed to the studio?” Keith asked from the couch, and Lance felt his eyebrow twitch.

He turned back to face him slowly. “No, I’m gonna work on the song in the middle of the park with the pigeons as my chorus. Where else, _Einstein_?”

Keith stood up, his expression never changing, and Lance froze. _Oh shit, he’s gonna try and beat me up in my own house?_ “Allura wants us both to work on the song. Get your stuff and let’s go.”

“B-But you--! Weren’t you here to study with Hunk and Pidge?” he asked.

“Pidge dragged me along, said she needed a ride. I don’t need to study for physics.” Keith deadpanned. “Now c’mon.”

Lance’s face went red again, and he looked at Pidge, who was giving him the biggest, most devious smile in the world. _Oh she can choke._ “Fine. But we’re not talking on the way there.”

“Fine by me.”

Lance realized what a grave mistake he had made by agreeing to carpool with Keith when he realized he didn’t even have a car. He had a _motorcycle._  

He watched as Keith grabbed the two helmets he had left on top of the seats with big, wide eyes. “Nuh uh. No way, no sir. Not happening.”

Keith tossed the Cuban one of the helmets, which effectively shut him up for only a second. “Relax. I’m not a shitty driver, you’ll live. Unless you want to walk?”

Lance huffed. “Well, it-- it’s not _that_ far.”

“Just get on. Or what, are you scared?” The other boy mounted the bike and sent him a smirk.

The Cuban flushed deep red before shoving on his helmet so hard he almost got dizzy. _This loser thinks I’m scared? I’ll show him!_ He clumsily mounted the seat, making it a point to not grab onto Keith, who gave him a weird stare.

“You-- nevermind.” He put on his own helmet then turned on the bike, which roared to life. Lance jumped with a yelp, and out of sheer instinct he immediately wrapped his arms around Keith’s torso. A laugh rang from inside of his helmet. “Thought you weren’t scared?” Keith teased.

“Just drive, mullet.” he answered back, and Keith laughed again.

The pair took off for the studio, zooming through streets and cutting through lanes probably in the most illegal way possible. Keith was wrong, he was a _madman_ while driving with his motorcycle, and Lance feared for his life every second of it. Why? Why did things have to turn out like this?

The upside was that they made it there in no time. They parked quickly and Lance hopped off the bike, legs shaking. Keith turned off the motorcycle and grabbed the keys, slowly pulling his own helmet off, leaving his hair in disarray-- and he made no effort to fix it, either.

Lance glared at him, arms crossed while Keith chuckled. “What, was that your first time on a bike?”

“W-Well, yeah! Obviously!” he huffed. “You drive terribly.”

“No, you’re just afraid.” Keith replied, and he finally got off. “Let’s go.”

As soon as they entered the building, Lance waved to Adam, who was sending him a suggestive look. “Nice to see you two boys again. Did you come in together?”

“Hey Adam.” Keith greeted, and he leaned on the counter. “Is my brother here?”

The secretary flushed and cleared his throat, which Lance mentally wrote down on his little Brain Notepad under the column _blackmail_. _That_ was interesting. “Uh, y-yeah, he’s in his studio.”

“Cool. If he asks for me, tell him I’m on the second floor.” Keith took off for the elevators, while Lance stayed behind for just a second.

“So…” he started, and he grinned wide at his friend. “Shiro, huh?”

Adam hit the top of Lance’s head with a rolled up newspaper he grabbed from nearby with startling fluidity. “Go work.”

The boy laughed and waved goodbye as he followed Keith, who was still in the elevator and pressing the _Keep Doors Open_ button. And of course, he figured the elevator ride would be awkward until Keith actually… started a conversation? “Adam totally has a crush on my brother.”

Lance chuckled in response, the first time he actually had a pleasant exchange with Keith. “Who doesn’t?”

Things got kind of awkward after that, and Keith left the elevator first, a darker look to his eyes.  _Yikes, okay, nevermind then._

They both sat down at the computer in front of the recording room while Keith logged on _(He already has a company account?)_ and pulled out the recordings for _Someday._ Then, he deleted the lyrical ones where he actually sang.

“Wh-What are you doing?” Lance exclaimed.

“We’re starting over. I have a feeling the last guy didn’t do that great of a job if it’s anything similar to _Dance With Me_.” Keith answered plainly.

 _Okay, ouch?_ “Excuse me? I’ll have you know this new song is _very_ different.”

“Even worse. If it’s slow, I doubt he could’ve made it sound any good.” He opened a cabinet nearby and pulled out the notebook where Lance kept his songs, obviously stored there for safekeeping, and the Cuban jumped for it.

Quickly he snatched it out of Keith’s hands, not wanting his little goblin prints all over it. “Fine, whatever. We’ll re-record the song.”

He stalked into the recording room and put on the headphones, mirroring Keith’s own movements. Once he sat down on the stool in front of the piano, he opened his notebook to the page where he had written down the melody, and he placed it on the music stand. He didn't need a band to sing the song luckily, just his hands. Then, he began to play.

He sang into the microphone, never taking his eyes off the music, while also trying to picture himself with the person he had written the song about-- unfortunately, no one really came to mind. When he wrote _Someday_ , he hadn’t really been thinking of anyone in particular. He had been more focused on expressing the _longing_ he had felt at the time, and that’s really what the song was about; wanting to have that special connection with your soulmate, staying by their side, being to them what they are to you. It was more of a ‘lonely’ song, in that case, which was kind of a sensitive topic for him. Yeah he _wanted_ to be with someone, but no matter how hard he tried, he was always shot down. Constantly. All the time.

But whatever. Keith didn’t need to know that, even if that was exactly what he was singing.

When the song ended, Keith was looking at him intently with his chin on the palm of his hand, headphones still on. He didn’t say anything. “Keith?”

Then he finally reacted, and he fiddled with the computer before motioning for him to step out. Lance put the headphones back on the stool below him and poked his head out. Keith wasn’t looking at him as he typed a couple of things into the computer. Then he suddenly pulled up a picture of llama. “Do you see this animal?”

“Uh… yeah?” Lance’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he stepped out of the recording room entirely. “What about it?”

“That’s what you sound like.”

The Cuban gasped as Keith _snorted_ , and he made all of these horrified choking noises. “Y-Y-You--! You--!!”

“I heard everything I needed to hear. I’ll have the song finished by Monday, if not tomorrow.” Keith said, and he pulled out a USB from his pocket, sticking it into the side of the computer. He transferred that day’s session into the drive. Then, he began to shut everything down.

“Wait… that’s it?” Lance asked. “I just… recording it once, and…?”

Keith gave him a weird look. “Yeah? Did the last guy make you record more than that?”

He shrugged in response. “I mean, we’d record with Allura, and she’d make me record over and over, so…”

Keith grabbed his jacket and shrugged it on. “Weird. Well, if I find any issues with your voice I can just fix them. C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

They stepped out of the room, shut off the lights, walked through the eerily quiet hallway. When they stepped into the elevator again, things were just as quiet and awkward as before. Then, Lance decided it was his turn to speak up. “Are you gonna stop by and say hi to your brother?”

“No.” Keith responded shortly, and there was an edge to his tone that Lance didn’t feel like arguing with.

“Hmm. Shame.”

“Why? Do _you_ wanna say hi to him?”

Lance gave him an odd look. That was... a weird response, and kind of uncalled for? But it certainly wasn't enough to be offended. “No. I just figured that, well, if my sibling was working in the same building as me, I’d wanna say hi. But suit yourself, grumpypants.”

Keith was about to say something in response, but then the elevator doors opened, and they were met face to face with their topic of conversation: Shiro.

As soon as his eyes landed on Keith, he immediately brightened, a big smile spreading on his face. “Hey Keith! Hi, Lance! Glad to see you two are working together.” The bigger man walked in and draped his left arm over Keith’s shoulder, ruffling his long black hair.

Lance held in a laugh as he watched Keith’s face go bright, bright red. “Uh, y-yeah, I guess.”

“It’s good I caught you two. I was just on my way to see Allura. Wanna come with?” He looked between both Lance and Keith expectantly before the latter cleared his throat and removed himself from beneath his big muscular arm.

“I, uh, I actually need to get home and work on this. Lance’s voice needs a _lot_ of editing.” he said, and the boy in question ruffled, stammering in indignation again.

“Keith!” Lance exclaimed, and he flushed, too, embarrassed to be called out like that in front of his _idol_ , his  _icon_.

Shiro laughed, a pretty and deep sound, and he just ruffled Keith’s hair again. “Alright, buddy. Be safe on your way back. I’ll be in time to make dinner.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Keith shrugged him off and opened the elevator doors again, which had closed during their conversation.

“Bye Shiro!” Lance called as he walked off, and Shiro waved back. _He waved at me!_

The pair walked past Adam, who looked thoroughly lovestruck, and didn’t even notice when they walked out through the front door.

Keith seemed like he was in a hurry, immediately mounting his bike and shoving on his helmet without a word. Lance gingerly followed suit, wrapping his arms slowly around Keith’s torso, who he felt stiffen.

They made their way back slower than before, and Lance didn’t know if it was because of Shiro’s comment or what, but he felt much calmer this time around. However, this gave him the opportunity to actually ask Keith something. “You alright, Keith?”

The driver didn’t respond, so Lance assumed he didn’t hear him. “K--”

“I’m fine.” he finally replied, and that was about the extent of their conversation until they got back to Lance’s apartment. _Fine. If he doesn’t wanna be chatty, he doesn’t need to be chatty. I’ll never forgive his little comment earlier, anyway._

When they arrived, Hunk and Pidge were sitting on the ground in front of their entrance, drinking from water bottles, and they immediately stood when they parked right in front. It seemed like Pidge was just waiting for her ride. Lance got off first and took off his helmet, feeling his knees wobble just like before. He doubted he’d get used to it-- he refused to ride a motorcycle again, no matter how slowly they drove.

Keith took off his helmet but didn’t dismount, and the Cuban watched as Pidge took Lance's place and grabbed the second helmet out of his hands. Then Keith turned to look at Lance, neutral as always. “I’ll send you the song as soon as it’s done. Here,” he handed him his phone, Contacts app open. “Put in your number.”

The Cuban did as he was told, typing in his number rapidly and handing it over. _Ugly Android user. Absolutely despicable._ “I’ll see if I reply, I usually don’t answer Samsung phone numbers.”

Keith huffed a laugh, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Yeah, ‘cuz you never get the reception.” He tugged on his helmet, and gave him a sarcastic little wave as he revved the motor.

He took off, Pidge waving goodbye, too, and Lance was left scowling at him in the middle of the street. Hunk was cackling on the sidewalk, holding his stomach like that was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

“Oh, yeah, _ha ha ha_ , laugh it up.” Lance mocked, and he flicked his best friend in the forehead. “But don’t forget, sir, that I am very,  _very_ angry at you. You _knew_ Keith was coming over and you didn’t give me a heads up! How _dare_ you!”

His best friend shrugged and walked inside, leaving Lance throwing a fit on the sidewalk. “Your pride wouldn’t have let you willingly reach out to him to apologize. I know you, dude. I had to step in.”

“Oh, whatever.” Lance huffed and crossed his arms, but he knew full well that Hunk was right.

“How did recording go, anyway?” he asked, and he pushed a plate already served from the kitchen counter-- a sandwich with chips -- towards him. “Good to see you didn’t kill each other.”

The boy bit into his sandwich immediately, a masterpiece of salami, ham, bacon, and provolone. Hunk was such a _god_. “It was fine. We bumped into Shiro. Turns out Adam is like, head over heels for him.”

Hunk smiled. “Sounds likely.”

As Lance ate, he thought back to Keith and his brother. What kind of relationship did they have? When Keith willingly mentioned Shiro that first time, he didn’t seem bothered by it. But when Lance did, why did the conversation turn sour? And why was he embarrassed to see his brother there? It didn’t seem like they had a bad relationship, Keith certainly wasn’t rude to him and neither was Shiro. So why the tension?

He kept eating and decided not to think about it. It wasn’t his business, anyway.

He took his plate to the couch and turned on the TV, immediately perking up as soon as he saw that _The Princess Diaries 2_ was on Netflix. _I hope the song turns out alright._ was a passing thought as Mia's voice-over began.


	3. the bonding moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let this chapter be a solace to you after season seven
> 
> it certainly is for me

_“Regrets collect like old friends,”_ Lance sang. His voice echoed throughout the apartment, loud and melodic, even beneath the static sound of the shower. _“Here to relive your darkest moments.”_

It was a lazy Sunday, like most were, and he intended to do absolutely nothing. No recording, no homework, just him and his skincare, him and his haircare, him and the comfortable afternoon enveloping itself around him like a lover’s embrace.

 _This is what heaven must be like_ , he figured as he got out of the shower, bathrobe wrapped snug around his thin frame. Florence Welch’s sky-high vocals echoed against the tile walls of his bathroom, the entire room smelled like lavender, and his peel-off matcha mask was working its magic. _I wonder, does Keith ever do things like this?_

He paused. Why the hell was he thinking about _Keith_ ? That aside, as if a guy that proudly dons a _mullet_ would ever consider his personal appearance. Not to mention he rode a motorcycle and only wore red and black like a true MCR fan. _He’s probably the type of guy to use 3-in-1 shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. Disgusting._

He walked into the living room, not bothering to get dressed since it was, like, two in the afternoon. He resumed his natural position on the couch, draped across like a sloth with one leg hanging off the side. Hunk was probably over at Pidge’s house studying since he had mentioned doing some sort of switch thing with their meetups, and apparently the Physics test was important.

He didn’t question it. What reason did his best friend ever have to lie? He trusted him with his life, and Hunk did, too-- years of friendship kinda had that effect. When he pulled that little stunt he had yesterday, he was almost convinced by his reasoning-- _Your pride wouldn’t have let you willingly reach out to him to apologize_ \-- and let it slide. But then he started thinking.

Did he have a pride problem? How many times had he missed out on an opportunity because he was too prideful? He certainly didn’t think himself necessarily _better_ than anyone, he just had a tendency to pull a Mr. Darcy (“ _My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.”_ ) whenever anyone wronged him. But… was that really a problem? When he heard that one guy, Mark, talk badly about his best friend he didn’t think twice about _accidentally_ spilling his water bottle in his backpack.

But was it an inconvenience to the people around him? He didn’t want Hunk to have to go out of his way to make sure Lance didn’t burn his bridges. He’s perfectly fine with burned bridges since he has the materials to make his own. But now that he thought about it, he shouldn’t have burdened his best friend with that problem-- he should’ve reached out to Keith himself. In fact, he should text the _Emo Cowboy_ right now to ask how the song was coming along.

However, he was distracted by another notification.

 

> **Mi Rey ❤❤❤**
> 
> -
> 
> **Mi Rey:** LANCE KEITH INCOMING IN T-10 MINUTES
> 
> **Mi Rey:** HE GOT IN AN ARGUMENT WITH SHIRO
> 
> **Mi Rey:** Said he was gonna deliver the song to you Himself or some excuse like that
> 
> **Mi Rey:** don’t say i didn’t warn you!
> 
> -

 

Wait… Keith got in an argument with Shiro? _That’s… not good._ He thought. _I should probably get changed, I’d never live it down if he saw me in--_ **_DING! DONG! DING!_**

_Fuuuck…!_

Lance tied his robe tighter around himself, adjusting his turban and opening the door wide.

Standing in the entrance was Keith, helmet underneath his arm, backpack on his shoulders and an upset look on his face. He opened his mouth to say something before he actually _saw_ what Lance looked like, and his stone cold grimace cracked to show a slight smile for just a second. “Hope I didn’t wake you, Sleeping Beauty.”

“ _Haha,_ very funny. What brings you here-- for the _second_ day in a row?” he asked, and Keith barged right in, completely ignoring the fact that no, Lance hadn’t invited him in yet. But then, he saw it.

At the left corner of his mouth was a bright red bruise, on his upper lip a small cut, and on his right cheek a purple swell. He looked _slightly_ beat up, as if it had happened a while ago but it hadn’t been that bad. It was still a shock to see someone so  _visibly_ injured. He couldn’t recall the last time he had seen someone else in that state. “I’m here to show you the song. It’s better you give me feedback in person that way we can fix it real-time.”

“Uh… y-yeah, let me just get changed.” The Cuban frowned as he left for his bedroom, rushing towards his closet to grab his clothes. He couldn’t dry and straighten his hair since Keith was at his house and he didn’t want to keep him waiting too long. He wasn’t _that_ rude. Besides, it’s not like he deserved to see him put together anyway-- he interrupted _his_ Sunday.

He also didn’t want to mention his facial injuries since he figured it’d just make him upset. Apparently he had fought with Shiro, and since the marks didn’t look fresh, it obviously wasn’t because of him. Not that he ever doubted Shiro in the first place-- he was buff and handsome, but he’d never raise a hand against his own brother. Not after what he witnessed the day before, anyway.

As he rid his face of the peel-off face mask he had almost forgotten he had put on, one of his contact lenses fell, and he winced. That was his last set for the month until he got a new box tomorrow, so that meant he needed to wear his glasses. _Shit. Fine, who cares. I doubt Keith will care, anyway._

When he returned to the living room, towel around his shoulders, Keith was already sitting on the couch with his laptop open, illuminating his pale face. He had an intense look, but once Lance entered, his eyes went a little wide. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

The Cuban frowned, an embarrassed blush dusting his cheeks only slightly. “It’s whatever. I have to wear contacts all the time. Anyway, uh, the song?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Keith turned his laptop to show Lance as he sat down on the couch, and he disconnected his headphones. Then, he pressed play.

The song started out slow, with a gentle piano intro. Then, all of a sudden, a violin started to play, and Lance’s voice joined in.

He sounded… _great_ . Not just good, not just _really good_ , but _great_ . He sounded smooth, and clean, but raw at the same time-- as he rose in volume, the music moved with him, and it felt dynamic, it felt emotional. The song sounded _gorgeous_. Allura had been right-- Keith did not disappoint.  _But... where did the violin come from?_

When the song ended, Lance was quiet as he decided whether or not to give him the credit. Yeah, he was annoying, and emo, and he probably used 3-in-1 shampoo, but the song turned out way better than he expected. It sounded exactly how he wanted it to. “So? Any complaints?”

Keith looked at Lance expectantly, and the Cuban sighed. “It… is good. Really good.”

The other huffed a laugh, an eyebrow raised but a smug little smirk on his lips. “So why do you sound disappointed?”

Lance turned away with a _hmmph!_ “W-Well, because I expected someone that has a _mullet_ and only dresses in _black_ like a My Chemical Romance _diehard_ would probably produce some sort of Evanescence-inspired concoction.” He stood up and continued to dry his hair with his towel.

“I’m more of a Florence man, but alright.” Keith responded, and Lance whipped his head around, giving him a stare. Had he heard his singing from outside? _No, there’s no way. He didn’t get here in time to witness that._

“Anyway, _Keitherton_ ,” Lance began, ( _“Don’t call me that,” Keith had quickly responded_ ) “I’ve been meaning to ask ever since you _shoved_  your way in through the front door... What’s with the bruises, man?” He walked slowly towards the kitchen, took out a glass from his cupboard, then poured himself a glass of water. But Keith hadn’t answered yet. “Keith?”

“I, uh, I got in a fight.” he responded quietly, and Lance leaned over the counter to look at him. He was still sitting on the couch, not making any eye contact, but his laptop was closed. Then, he looked down at his glass of water, and he hummed.

He sat down next to Keith and set down a smaller cup with whiskey, a Hudson New York City, clear and light, on the coffee table in front of him. “Really? With who?”

“Doesn’t matter.” he replied shortly, and he took the glass, placing it under his nose. He paused, then narrowed his eyes at Lance. “You tryna’ get me drunk?”

“Calm down, cowboy,” he chided. “Should help you ignore the pain from the bruises. Unless you’re some big macho tough guy who isn’t affected by ‘little scratches’ or whatever.”

“I’m driving a _motorcycle_ back, Lance.” he responded, and he set the glass back down. “If you _really_ wanna be a good host, you’d get me a water.”

“What I _really_ want is to tell my why you showed up at my house unannounced with marks all over your face, barged in, and now refuse to tell me what happened.” He returned to the kitchen to get that glass of water, and huffed when he sat back down. “But sure, dodge the question.”

“Some… asshole from my Physics class. I bumped into him at the Guitar Center ‘cuz I needed strings. He was with some girls or whatever and I didn’t even say hi, but I overheard him talk shit.” he shrugged as he drank the water, but he didn’t make eye contact. In the low light, Lance thought he saw a flush to his cheeks, but he might’ve been mistaken. “So I beat his ass.”

“Hmm.” Lance frowned to himself, and thought _sounds familiar_ before turning to him again. “What’d he say?”

Keith scowled, but he didn’t say anything for a while. _I probably shouldn’t have asked that._ “Just… some shit about my parents. About how they died, or… whatever. It doesn’t matter. The point is, I thoroughly kicked his ass.”

Lance didn’t know what to say. It caught him off guard. He hadn't known Keith didn’t have any parents-- maybe a cursory Google search might’ve fixed that problem --and he certainly couldn’t relate, so it’s not like he had much to offer in the situation. “Sorry to hear that. The, uh parents, part, not the, uh, beating his ass part. Sounds like he really deserved it.”

The other huffed a laugh, staring at the glass in his hands. “Yeah, but now Shiro’s upset. Said I had no business getting into fights or something.”

“W-Well, yeah. I mean, if I was Shiro I’d be upset, too.” But then he saw that kind of faraway look in his eyes, a guilty one, and he decided to backtrack. He probably wasn’t looking for someone to chastise him right now. “But... I’m not. So I say good job-- you handed someone’s ass to them in the middle of a Guitar Center.”

Keith laughed, a mellow sound in the quiet mood of the living room. Things were… pleasant. It almost felt like they were friends. _We’re just coworkers,_ he told himself, _and this is just me offering a coworker some advice._

But then, Keith grabbed the whiskey and mumbled a mumbled a rushed _Fuck it_ before taking it like a shot-- which was exactly how you _weren’t_ supposed to drink it. “K-Keith! That’s _not_ how you drink that!”

“Oh, relax. It’s not my first time drinking.” he retorted, and he leaned his head back on the backrest of the couch. “Don’t tell me the alcohol belongs to Hunk and not you.”

Lance stammered indignantly. “N-No! These are mine. I just… don’t feel like drinking right now.”

“Hmm, suit yourself. Guess I shouldn’t expect a margarita man to drink whiskey.”

The Cuban gasped, his face turning red. How _dare_ he suggest that a _margarita man_ , which he _proudly_ identified as, couldn’t also enjoy whiskey? How outdated. “I _offered_ it to you, mister!” he exclaimed, and he ran back to the kitchen to grab the bottle, then set it on the coffee table in determination. “Don’t try to outdrink the host, it’s poor manners.”

Keith poured himself another glass, and again took it like a shot, much to Lance’s horror. “S-Stop doing that!”

“Cowards sip on whiskey,” Keith mocked, and he cleared his throat, a hoarseness to his voice that was barely noticeable. “Warriors drink everything like a shot.”

Lance poured himself a glass, but sipped it slowly like a regular, decent human being who _didn’t_ want to die early. “Okay, _Emo Cowboy_. Just because I don’t want alcohol poisoning doesn’t mean I’m a coward.”

Except Keith… continued to drink the whiskey. There was _no_ way that he’d let him drive home on his bike now. Maybe he was a bit of an ass but Lance certainly didn’t want him to _die_.

Since he was sipping his whiskey instead of taking it like shots, which only a buffoon would do, he didn't get anywhere near as drunk as Keith. And the other was becoming a lot more open, laughing longer and louder at Lance’s shitty jokes. It almost felt like they were friends. Almost.

So Lance seized his chance, wanting to indulge in his curiosity as much as he could. “So, Keith, tell me. Do you frequently get into fights?”

The man in question scoffed. “Oh I used to get into them all the time. The only reason I didn’t get kicked out of high school is ‘cuz my brother used to teach there and he pulled some strings. But I’ll tell you somethin’, I won every single one of ‘em.”

Lance couldn’t help but laugh. “Sounds like you.”

“Can you blame me? People love to talk shit. But they can’t talk shit when they can’t use their mouth.” Keith looked at Lance, and Lance looked at Keith, and they both broke out into giggles. “But god, it was so satisfying to knock out James. He has this, like, shitty hair that swoops to one side, _god_ I hate him.”

“He sounded like a real asshole. And again, dude, I’m sorry to hear about your parents. Must be tough with just you and Shiro, especially since he’s, like, super famous and you only have, like, two thousand Twitter followers.” teased Lance.

Keith seemed to sober a little, but he actually answered, which he certainly wouldn’t have done earlier. “It’s alright. It happened a while ago, when I was like, twelve. For starters I was adopted, so I never met my biologicalparents, and then when I was fourteen and Shiro was nineteen, my adoptive parents, _his_ biological ones, died in a car crash. So he became my legal guardian, and he’s been taking care of me ever since.”

Lance was taken aback. Hearing the full story actually kind of made him feel really bad. Of course Keith was drunk-- Shiro got upset, and he practically raised him during his most difficult years. Shiro was important to Keith, and when someone’s important to you, you don’t wanna disappoint them. “I’m sorry about that, Keith. But hey, if it’s any consolation,” The Cuban swallowed his pride and turned to look at him. “I think Shiro got upset at you because he was worried you got hurt. If you hadn’t gone back with any of those cuts and bruises, he probably would’ve given you a high-five.”

Keith laughed, a pretty sound that he realized sounded just like Shiro’s. “Yeah! Yeah he would’ve. He’s done it before. I’m just rusty, that’s why. James wasn’t that good at fighting.” His words began to slur, and Lance saw his eyes start to blink slower and slower. Still, he didn't want to miss his opportunity. This guy was like a locked chest inside a vault dumped in an ocean. He wasn't opening up for anyone anytime soon-- unless he acted fast.

"What were you like, uh, when you were a teenager?"

The boy scoffed. "I was terrible. I was a shitty kid. Always testing my teachers, obviously not Shiro, I didn't have any friends. My grades were alright but my teachers hated me, obviously since I was an asshole. I wasn't in sports, I smoked behind the school. Your regular, run-of-the-mill delinquent."

Lance frowned. "You smoke?"

He was quiet for a long time, and the Cuban had thought he had fallen asleep until he finally answered. "Not anymore. Shiro got me to quit."

He hummed. That was good. He hated smoking-- he didn't think he could hang around someone that smoked. Just thinking about it... hurt his chest. But he quickly shook off that feeling, and continued to ask questions. "Any girlfriends in high school? Maybe any now?"

Keith laughed, loud but short. "I'm gay as hell, dude."

 _Oh! Oh, I didn't know that._ "Oh, mood. But also, like, not. I'm bi."

"And you? You got any, uh, girl... boy... friend...s...?" Keith asked, and Lance paused. Oh. He asked  _him_ a question. 

"Uh, no. Not yet, anyway."

"Hmm... hhnggg...ood..."  _Huh? Did he say something?_ Lance leaned closer to listen to him better, but then suddenly Keith just flopped over on his side, in a completely uncomfortable position, and proceeded to knock the fuck out, snoring and everything. He was  _gone_.

Lance was about to ask him another question before he realized it wasn't worth it. He just sat on the couch, staring at the wall. Sure, he was drunk and he'd regret it the next morning, but poor Keith was gonna die tomorrow. Not to mention he didn't have a way home-- neither of them were gonna drive drunk. He could always call an Uber--

Suddenly, he heard a flurry of violin notes, and he jumped, looking around. On the other side of the couch was Keith’s phone, and Shiro’s name flashed white on the screen. _Oh shit._ He grabbed the phone and answered the call “Hello?”

_“Uh… Keith?”_

“No, um, actually this is Lance. Keith kind of passed out.”

_“What? What do you mean he passed out?”_

He glanced at where Keith stirred, only to lay down on his side and curl up to a throw pillow. “Uh, well, he came over to show me the song and I offered him some whiskey. He refused because he was driving, and I was gonna take it away, but then he started taking it like shots? I don’t know, he was acting kind of, like, down. Then he just fell asleep, and I felt bad. I was gonna call him an Uber.”

He heard a rustling sound, and then the jingle of keys. _“Alright, I’m gonna get your address from Hunk. I’ll go pick him up, okay?”_

“Yeah, yeah, no problem. Wouldn’t want him to like, throw up on my couch or something.” he responded, and he frowned inwardly. Of course Shiro had been upset at Keith. He’s his _brother_. Maybe not a legal guardian anymore since they were twenty-one, but that kind of fatherly instinct never goes away. He knew exactly how that felt.

_“Alright, I’ll be there in a bit. Bye, Lance.”_

The line went dead, and Lance carefully put down Keith’s phone back on the couch. He looked kind of… sad when he slept. He kind of curled into himself, like he was cold. And yeah, of course he felt weird watching him sleep, but it was almost mesmerizing.

Suddenly, he looked away quickly and he stood up, gathering their mess. So what? Couldn’t he appreciate someone else’s beauty without being romantically attracted to them? As if he’d ever like _Keith_ , who took whiskey like a _shot_ , the uncultured swine. They weren’t even friends. He thinks. Right?

Maybe Keith had abandonment issues. Maybe he had inadequacy issues. He probably had the same problems Lance was dealing with, or maybe different ones, but for just a flicker of a moment he felt like they were on the same wavelength. _He’s probably scared to disappoint Shiro, and that’s why he got drunk. If I lost almost everyone I ever loved, I wouldn’t want the last person to be upset with me either. At least, I think that’s how I’d feel. I don’t really know._

Lance narrowed his eyes at the man passed out beside him. He told himself he needed to be willing to put his pride aside earlier. Was becoming friends with Keith part of the deal? He could always be _friendly_ with Keith but keep things at the coworker level. _I guess if he’s passed out drunk on my couch that kinda crosses the coworker-friendship line, doesn’t it?_

Whatever. He’d get a headache if he kept thinking himself into holes like that. Odds are Keith would just want to forget this entire evening and never mention it to him again. Yeah, he could deal with never addressing it ever again. It certainly was creepy to watch him sleep, and _that’s_ not something you want to deal with the next morning.

He stood up and went towards the kitchen to pour himself another glass of water, trying to cushion whatever effects the alcohol would have on him tomorrow. He doubted he’d have any sort of hangover, he didn’t drink that much.

When the doorbell rang, Lance rushed for the door, combing his hands through his now dry curly hair. He wanted to at least look a _little_ decent if Shiro was coming over, even though he looked like rock bottom embodied.

He opened the door and gave the other singer a small smile as he nudged his head towards where Keith was passed out. Behind him came Hunk and Pidge, the latter of which had an evil grin on her little face and her phone out. “He’s over there.”

Keith’s older brother walked towards the couch slowly, and Lance saw the stern look of concern immediately melt away into something that looked like guilt, or maybe worry. Lance stayed observant, and he watched as Shiro gently nudged Keith awake, urging him to stand up so they could go home in hushed tones. “C’mon buddy, it’s time to go.”

“... ance…” Lance thought he heard Keith mumble, but he was slurring all of his words, and his limbs might as well have been controlled by a blind puppeteer. His brother had to put an arm around his torso, and then with startling fluidity, possibly superhuman, he hoisted Keith onto his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Pidge immediately snapped a picture.

“C’mon buddy.” He heard Shiro say, and he made his way out the front door, his drunk little brother mumbling and murmuring. As soon as he got him into the backseat (where he immediately laid back down) he turned back to Lance, who had followed him outside, and handed him a slip of paper with a phone number on it. “Here, in case this happens again, or there’s an emergency, or… uh, anything. Thanks for taking care of him.”

The Cuban nodded in response, but just before Shiro was about to get into the driver’s seat, he spoke up. “Shiro, I-- I know it’s not any of my business-” he began, and he swallowed thickly as he looked away. “- but I think Keith is really upset. He doesn’t want to disappoint you.” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, still refusing to make eye contact. “I think that’s why he drank. But, uh, it-- it’s none of my business, so…”

He glanced back for only a brief moment, and in the dim light from his entrance, he saw Shiro’s gentle smile. “You’re a good kid, Lance.” was all he said before he got into the driver’s seat and drove off.  _I hope I wasn’t overstepping any boundaries._ He thought.

Lance trudged back inside, feeling drained from the entire endeavor, only to be met with the sight of Hunk and Pidge on the couch, eating chips and watching a show. “Goodnight, you two, I’m going to bed. Tonight didn’t happen.”

“Uh huh!” was all he heard from Pidge, and he certainly didn’t like the tone of it, before he locked himself in his room. So much for his self-care Sunday.

Well, whatever. At least Keith opened up a little ( _not that it’s any of my concern, anyway_ ) and he got to learn about what was really going on with him. Maybe knowing so much about a coworker wasn’t appropriate, but neither was passing out at their house. He pinned it on his messy curiosity and flopped on his bed, too tired to try and continue thinking about what he had decided he’d rather forget.

Tomorrow would be a new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this will go exactly as you think it will


	4. a new variable

Mondays were Mondays, as they have been since the beginning of time, probably. As it turned out, he actually didn’t wake up with a bad headache. In fact, he woke up in a pretty good mood. His morning was slow and relaxed, and his classes were uneventful.

He was set to meet with Allura after classes since he had informed her that his song had been finished the night before; _(_ **_Lance:_ ** _hey guess what queen your favorite singer’s new song should release soon)_ she was very enthusiastic to hear it  _(_ **_Mi Reina:_ ** _hey king wow i didnt know shiro was coming out with a new song),_ so they set their meeting for the afternoon.

Except… he hadn’t heard from Keith yet. Which he didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing. He doesn't have his phone number since he hadn’t texted him yet, but Keith had his for sure. It’s not like he was gonna text Shiro and be like _Hey Mr. Shiro Sir, Can I Please Have Your Brother’s Phone Number_ because that’d be weird. Not just that, apparently he hadn’t showed up to school since Hunk and Pidge noted his absence during their study break.  _Probably dealing with that killer hangover._ he thought.

And yeah, Pidge had become a regular part of their little breaks now. She shared a class with Hunk and they often talked, which he didn’t mind-- she was pretty funny and she had a great music taste. It was easy to get along with her, but maybe it was because she was similar to Hunk in a lot of ways, and they complimented each other. For example, he was an amazing cook who baked when he was stressed, and they were always stressed, and she was always hungry. Still, sometimes he felt a little bit left out during conversations since they always talked about their respective majors. No offense, but he wasn’t a _STEM_ kinda guy. He could get by just fine in those fields, in fact he was pretty good in them, but his heart said music major, and he was lucky to already have his career set so far. All he needed was to keep cooking up songs.

The good thing was that his team was pretty solid. Allura had gotten an awesome band called the _Bi Boh Biis_  to play the music for his songs, and now Keith was working his little editing magic, too. Who knows? He might go far if things keep going the way they’re going. He might even get to be on Shiro’s level one day. But, before he got ahead of himself, he remembered the song he needed to release. All he needed were two more classes, and then he was free. Just a couple more hours and then--

He heard a loud _SMACK!_ And something that sounded like the shuffling and scattering of paper. He turned and saw a girl behind him kneeling down to pick up what looked like a huge amount of work blown out across the sidewalk. Lance immediately crouched to help her pick her things up silently. The girl however, jumped and looked up, an embarrassed expression on her gentle features. “Oh, don’t worry, I can pick this up…”

“Don’t worry about it.” he insisted, and he met her eyes-- for a brief second, his breath caught. She had gorgeous honey-oak eyes, framed by long dark eyelashes and thick, bushy black eyebrows. Her dark skin was covered in tiny, barely-noticeable freckles, and her coily hair was styled into two braids that stopped at her chest. She was very, _very_ pretty, and immediately Lance hurried with the papers. _Holy shit_. “There’s, uh, there’s always time to help a beautiful girl with anything she needs.”

The girl laughed, and oh, her _laugh_ sounded divine. She was perfect, Lance decided. Yes, his kids were going to swoon over how he knew their mother was the one as soon as he laid eyes on her. It’d be the cutest story. Their wedding would be in blue and green tones and-- and all of the papers were picked up. _Shit_. Now what did he do?

She reached for his share of the sheets, but he grabbed them and picked them up, nodding towards her taller pile. Whoever gave her all of these files or whatever to deliver clearly didn’t have an consideration for her time or her patience. “I’ll help you.” He grabbed the top half portion of her stack and grinned.

“But… I mean, you probably have places to go, it’s… it’s alright.”

He shook his head. “I won’t be late, promise.” Lance winked, which made her laugh again. He could hear that sound forever. “Where to?”

“Oh, I’m head to the Doheny.” she answered. “My name’s Nyma, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Nyma. The name’s Lance, Lance McClain.” he responded. “Y’know, I’ve been to the Doheny a couple times, but it’s a little too quiet for my tastes.”

“Wait…” she stopped walking for a second, and he stopped, too, giving her a curious look. “You said you’re Lance McClain?”

“Uh… yeah?” he narrowed his eyes in confusion. Did she maybe recognize him from somewhere? _I can’t really think of where…?_

“Are you the one that did  _Dance With Me?_ ”

Lance froze. _Oh my god I totally forgot I was a singer for a second holy shit._ “Y-Yeah! God, you made me panic, I thought for sure you might’ve recognized, like, a bad grade in one of these files or something.”

Nyma giggled, a sound that effectively made him high, and she lightly shoved him despite her full hands. _Oh she can shove me whenever._ “I love your music! Ever since I heard _Dance With Me,_ I’ve been listening to your stuff nonstop. When are you coming out with an album? Your fans need to know!”

The boy grinned, a deep blush on his cheeks. He was _loving_  this conversation. This was a total confidence booster for him, especially after everything that had happened the past few days. “Oh, I’m working on it. I’ve already got a couple songs written, but, uh, you know how labels are.”

“Aww! Well, make sure you tell me first, I _love_ your music. Your voice is _so_ awesome.”

As the pair made their way towards the library, their conversation carried easily like that, talking about their likes and dislikes and their majors and their passions. He learned that she was studying Law and dropping off the files as a favor for her friend, who had promised somebody that worked at the library something, but had been too busy to do it themselves. He also learned that she loved mango smoothies but rarely drank them, and that her favorite color was pink.

Nyma was a cool, funny, smart girl who was also very, very, _very_ pretty. Soon, he found himself dreading the moment they arrived at the library, not just because he’d have a long, _late_ walk back to class, but because it’d probably be the last time he’d see her.

But then, after dropping off the papers, he gathered the courage to turn and look her in the eye. “I have an idea…” he began. “How about, as soon as I have an update on my new album, I let you know personally? We could talk about it over mango smoothies.”

The girl in question crossed her arms and smirked at him, leaning on the counter behind her. “And how would you do that? This is the first time I’ve seen you around campus, and I doubt you’re new here.”

“Hmm, well, maybe… I could… get your number?” Lance winked, and she laughed, but promptly took out her phone. He quickly fumbled in his back pockets for his, and they added each other to their contacts.

“You’re cute, Lance.” Nyma stated, and she winked, which made him feel things all over.

“I’m... also late to class. I’ll text you, yeah?” he said, and he rushed off, leaving her to call _Hey, you liar, you said you wouldn’t be late!_ After him.

Maybe he’d be late, but he just got a really cute girl’s phone number, and every cell in his body was jumping for joy. Life was good.

* * *

When Lance walked into the Altean Records building, he was in such a high mood that absolutely nothing could bring him down. Adam seemed to vibe with it, too, because when Lance passed by, he lifted his hand for a high-five, which he immediately reciprocated.

“Someone’s feeling chipper. Glad to know things are going good with you.” he said, and he raised his black mug to his lips, sipping his coffee pleasantly. “You gonna record or meet with the boss?”

“The boss. She’s gonna listen to the song and give me the green light to release it. And you? Don’t think I didn’t notice you’re drinking from a new mug. Can’t believe you didn’t like my Christmas gift.” he teased.

Adam chuckled, and he raised it up to look at the ceramic. It was black, but dotted with dozens of tiny little sparkles that made it look like the night sky. On one side was his name written in shiny gold cursive. “I loved your gift, Lance! This one’s actually a gift, too.”

“Oh?” Lance leaned in. He had this shit-eating grin on his tan face, and his eyebrows wiggled all across his big forehead. “From who, Adam? Who’s givin’ you gifts, eh?”

The man looked away bashfully, a bright blush on his cheeks. “Oh, no one, just… no one…”

“Uh huh, yeah, right.” he teased. He adjusted his bag on his shoulder and then stepped back from the counter. “Well, I’ll see you later, Adam. Gotta go, can’t keep my queen waiting.”

“Yeah, yeah, go have fun, release your song.” The other man encouraged, and he turned back to his computer, where Lance could barely see an Astrology Love Compatibility website open. _He’s so whipped._

When he arrived at her office, Keith was already sitting on one of the chairs, which was a striking sight. He hadn’t heard _from_ him or _of_ him all day, and just figured he had fucking died or something. But he looked… _normal?_ If maybe a little tired. There were heavy rings under his eyes, dark and purple, but his facial scars and bruises were almost gone. _That’s good. He looks emo enough as it is._

Allura was at her desk typing something on her computer, but when Lance walked in, she grinned big and wide, and clapped her hands together. “Hello _Lonce_! Glad you finally made it. I wanted to wait until you were in the room to listen to your song! I’m so glad you two decided to work together.”

Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she pulled up the file Keith no doubt had already sent her, and then she turned to look at them again. “When Shiro told me about how you had re-recorded the song, I got _so_ happy! I am certain that this partnership will benefit the both of you greatly.”

Lance glanced at Keith, who met his eyes with a gentleness, a familiarity, that hadn’t been there before. _Huh?_ But he rapidly averted his gaze, not wanting to seem rude.

He was actually starting to feel kind of nervous. Allura was in no way harsh about her critiques, but she certainly didn’t hold back-- he had mentioned before that she often made him re-record if his voice didn’t sound quite right or if something was off. He wouldn’t be surprised if that happened again.

But as soon as she pressed play, and the song rang out from her speakers, he immediately knew that no, that wasn't gonna happen. He didn’t know how he knew, but he just did.

Her expression didn’t change the entire time-- she had leaned back and crossed her legs, her two palms pressed together against her lips, eyes trained on the screen simply because they didn’t happen to be directed anywhere else. She was entirely focused on listening.

Meanwhile, Lance was bouncing his leg up and down with his nerves, staring at Allura, and Keith was just… there, not on his phone, also looking at Allura with expectation. And, when the song ended, and she didn’t move, they just kind of… looked at each other for a hot second. Keith gave him a sort of  _Is she okay?_ look while Lance just shrugged and answered with  _I dunno_. 

Then, her chair creaked and they saw her serious, business woman expression break out into a giddy little grin. “The song is gorgeous! Absolutely amazing. You two make an _awesome_ team! I knew you wouldn’t disappoint.”

Lance felt his blood pressure drop in relief, and he saw Keith grin wide. “Thank god.”

“Thank god?” the Cuban responded, and he raised an eyebrow. “It was _obviously_ my voice that impressed her. I dunno what happened that day we recorded, but I was just… so _good_.”

Keith scoffed, and made a weird face at him, which made Lance break out into laughter. “Excuse me? I did practically all the work!”

“Oh, right, because snipping and cutting and adding sound effects is _so_ much work.”

“How can you say that?” Keith’s face was flushed red, with his eyes wide. “We had a _bonding moment_!”

“Nope, don’t remember, didn’t happen.”

Suddenly, the other’s mouth shut quickly, and his face burned with anger. “Yeah, w-well... you sound like a llama!”

“Oh, you take that back!” Lance exclaimed.

“ _Make me!_ ”

Suddenly, the two boys heard Allura’s loud and pretty laugh ring out and echo in the big space. It seemed their bickering only raised her spirits more. “How endearing! Reminds me of my first venture into music production! For a second, I thought this partnership would never work. But you both have thoroughly impressed me. I give you the green light to release the song, just tell me when. And, well, one more thing.”

The woman stood up, and out of sheer respect but also confusion, Keith and Lance mirrored her actions, straightening their postures. “ _Lonce_ , Keith, as soon as the song is released, I would love to begin discussion on your first album.”

Lance’s heart _flew_ across the galaxies as he finally heard the words he’d always wanted to hear. “Oh my god… are you serious?”

She nodded, and she looked at him with warm, kind eyes. “I’ve seen you grow and mature into a wonderful artist. Taking risks, doing whatever it takes for your music… that is exactly what I’m looking for in our talents. You make Coran and I proud to have you on our label. And Keith,” she turned to him and spoke, “you are an extraordinary, well-rounded talent. We hope that with the experience and the exposure you gain here, you develop your skills and eventually begin your career in the music industry, whether it be as a solo artist or DJ or whatever it is you desire. We’re very glad to have you with us.”

The Cuban felt his bottom lip quiver, and he just couldn’t help himself-- he shuffled to the other side of the desk and threw himself at Allura, wrapping her up in a hug like a grateful little kid. She laughed and hugged him back, her dazzling smile reminding him of his older sister, Veronica, who he dearly missed. “Thank you so much, Allura. You won’t regret this!”

“I sure hope so!”

After the meeting, Keith and Lance were standing in the elevator, waiting to arrive at the lobby, an awkward silence stretching between then. Lance certainly wasn’t gonna start a conversation, and he knew for sure that Keith wouldn’t either, so--

“Uh, Lance?”  _Damn it._

“Hmm?” The Cuban turned his head. “Yeah?”

“About, uh, last night…”

Lance flushed and turned away. _Just as I had thought I had gotten away with it, Satan strikes once again._ “What about last night?”

“I just wanted to apologize, for, um, getting drunk and--”

 _Act stupid, Lance, act stupid!_ “Huh? Oh, uh, yeah don’t worry about it dude. I got pretty drunk, too, so I don’t remember, like, anything.”

“Really?” Keith asked, and the other inwardly cringed. “Oh, well, uh… nevermind then.”

Oh, and now the mood was so much worse. He didn’t know if he should’ve done that, considering Keith’s tendency to brood, but it was better than addressing the fact that he watched him sleep and asked about his personal life. They were coworkers and nothing more-- right?

As soon as they got to the lobby, they silently walked together outside, the tension between them stifling. When had things gotten so awkward?

When the pair walked outside, Lance paused at the sidewalk and inwardly groaned as he realized he’d have to walk home. The afternoon sun was bright, there were no clouds in the sky, and his arms were tired from insisting on helping Nyma with the files.

Oh! Speaking of Nyma, he needed to let her know about the album. She was gonna be so impressed when he tells her he got the green-light. All he needed now was to finish writing the rest of his songs and he’d be set-- but for now, he was just gonna work on his assignments and take it easy, at least until this song released. Things were starting to look up.

“Wait, Lance,” he heard, and he turned to see Keith holding his helmet in his hands. “Do you need a ride?”

The Cuban considered his options. He could walk home and pass out mid-journey, probably from heatstroke, or ride in Keith's bike and not have to take a single step in the California heat. His face broke into a grin. “If you don’t mind!”

“Uh, no, not at all. I don’t have another helmet, though.”

Lance shrugged and walked over, watching as Keith put on his helmet and started up the bike. Here he realized the promise he had made himself just the other day-- that he’d never get on Keith’s bike again -- and mentally slapped himself. _I'm an idiot, a buffoon without a sense of pride or dignity_.

However, as they rode back, he realized something else, too. Keith’s driving was much slower this time, way more gentle, and every once in a while he’d turn his head back a little to check on Lance. He couldn’t hear anything he was saying, if he was even saying anything, since he had a helmet on and the wind was blowing in his face. He didn't know if he was imagining it, but he seemed more... conscious of him? Considerate wasn't really the word, since he didn't want to give him that credit, but it was along those lines.

Well, Lance really didn’t care all that much. His mind was much too preoccupied with the fact that he had a cute girl to text as soon as he got home. Hell, maybe he’d finally get a girlfriend after, like, years of trying. Nyma seemed awesome -- she was sweet, and funny, and totally cool. Plus, she liked his music!

After Keith dropped him off, he thanked him with a simple wave, and the other drove away, the sound of the engine echoing throughout the neighborhood.

* * *

 

 

> **Mi Reina ❤❤❤**
> 
>  -
> 
> **Lance:** hey queen!! Can we release the song on wednesday
> 
> **Lance:** i wanna surprise all my followers uwu
> 
> **Mi Reina:** if you type uwu again ill never release it
> 
> **Lance:** im sowwy mistew owbama
> 
> **Mi Reina:** s t op
> 
> **Lance:** no but fr can we?
> 
> **Mi Reina:** Consider It Done King!
> 
> **Lance:** WIG!

 

Lance sat on his bed, back pressed up against the headboard, knees up to his chest and face glued to his phone. He was so, _so_ excited to finally be releasing this song, especially after Keith worked his magic on it.

In the solace of his bedroom, he silently thanked whatever entity above for this opportunity. He was never really a religious kid, much less after he found out he wasn’t the straightest stick in the pile, but now, he really had to count his blessings. He knew, he felt it in his _heart_ that this song would be a smash hit.

 

> **Lance McClain** _@lanceylance_
> 
> **Guess what!? My new song drops on Wednesday! Thank you so much for your patience-- I hope you like “Someday” just as much as I do!**
> 
> -
> 
> **Keith liked your tweet.**
> 
> **-**

 

Lance paused. Oh! So _now_ Keith was liking his stuff? Obviously since it had something to do with him. But… he also didn’t credit him on the tweet? So maybe not? 

Actually, that was another question on his mind. Should he credit Keith on his tracks? Did Keith have a professional name? He didn't write the song so he couldn't jot him down in the writing credits. Then again, that was something for Allura to figure out, wasn't it? Was Keith's stage name Emo Cowboy? Actually, how  _is_ Keith's career doing, aside from his actual work with him? Surely he's been producing his own content on his YouTube channel, right? That had to be his only outlet for exposure, Lance couldn't quite find anything else, not even a SoundCloud. How did he expect to get his work out there if all he had was YouTube?

 

> **Nyma baby! liked your tweet.**

 

 _That must be her Twitter!_ Lance snapped out of his Keith-centered thoughts and immediately went to her profile, scrolling through her feed. She wasn’t very active, but she retweeted a lot of music-related things, and she’s even liked some of his posts pretty recently. _How sweet!_ He tapped on the follow button and waited to see if she’d send him a message-- then his phone rang out with a loud _DING!_

He scrambled for the Messages app, only to see an unknown number with disgusting _green bubbles._

 

> _**(626-389-4218)** _
> 
> _**-** _
> 
> **(626-389-4218):** lance
> 
> **Lance:** who is this
> 
> **(626-389-4218):** keith
> 
> **Lance:** oh
> 
> **Lance:** hey
> 
> -

 

Quickly, he created a new contact and changed his name.

 

> **-**
> 
> **Mullet Man:** we should start preparations for the album tomorrow
> 
> **Lance:** tomorrow?
> 
> **Mullet Man:** are you busy?
> 
> -

 

The boy thought for a second, and then jumped when he saw he got a message from Nyma. Shit, shit, shit. _Why am I so popular?_

 

> **Nyma ❤❤❤**
> 
> -
> 
> **Nyma:** hey lance!
> 
> **Nyma:** congrats on the new song!
> 
> **Lance:** thanks! I’m really excited for you to hear it :)
> 
> **Nyma:** any chance i could get an early listen ;) maybe over coffee?
> 
> **Lance:** that’d be great :)
> 
> **Nyma:** sweet! are you free tomorrow at 6?
> 
> -

 

 _FUCK! Fuck fuck fuck!_ Lance rubbed his palms over his face in frustration. He’d have to choose between recording and Nyma, and he _really_ wanted to choose Nyma. But this album was his _dream_ , he needed to get things going as soon as possible.

 

> **Lance:** i’ll meet you at 6 tomorrow
> 
> -
> 
> **Lance:** sorry, that won’t work. maybe some other time?

 

He sighed and hit the back of his head against the wall, wincing at the sharp pain. He hated having to make these kinds of decisions.

 

> **Mullet Man:** sweet, i’ll see you there. dont be late
> 
> -
> 
> **Nyma:** yeah, no problem! let me know when youre available :)


	5. the calm...

This was not how he had hoped to spend his Tuesday. He wasn’t quite used to Keith’s _"_ _if there’s time to relax there’s time to record"_ schedule, which of course had no consideration for his own hobbies and pastimes. He had a _life_ , it wasn’t _his_ fault Keith didn’t!

As soon as he had entered the recording studio he had regretted cancelling on Nyma. They ended up taking a rain check on their coffee date since she was busy the rest of the week, which was fine by him, but spending an afternoon with _Mister Mullet_ wasn’t exactly his idea of enjoyment.

The both of them sat on a couch outside of the actual booth, but Lance’s position was very different to Keith’s-- his back was on the floor with his legs and feet on the seat cushion, while Keith had both of his legs crossed on the sofa, with the keyboard from the booth dragged out onto his lap. The both of them looked very adolescent for what they were trying to do, but anyone who actually knew them would say it’d be typical.

Lance was staring up at the ceiling, with his blue songbook on his chest and a pencil in between the bottom of his nose and the top of his lip. He tried carefully to balance it as he thought. “What if… okay, what if we do… _And when you’re still in doubt/ and you turn around/ i’ll be there/ for you_?”

“Okay, yeah, that sounds nice Lance, but it also sounds kind of creepy.” Keith teased, and he took another sip of the Dr. Pepper he had on the end table nearby. “Why do you need to write a new song now? Don’t you already have, like, a shit ton in there?”

The Cuban blushed, and looked away to the right corner of the ceiling. “It-- I mean, yeah, I do. But, I mean, it can serve as a deluxe track. And I don’t want to, like, run out of material. Gotta keep my mind sharp, ya know?”

“I guess.”

Lance watched from the corner of his eye as Keith fiddled with the keyboard in front of him, then took another sip from his soda. He winced. “Keith, how can you drink that?”

The other boy narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Like, how can you drink soda? Especially Dr. Pepper. Shit’s gross, dude.”

Keith’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about? Dr. Pepper is not _gross_. It tastes perfectly fine!”

“Yeah, for _you_ , because you’ve probably already _killed_ all of your tastebuds.” Lance scoffed and sat up a little. “In my household, if you tried to walk in with a soda, my mother would slap the can out of your hand and then force, like, mango water down your throat.”

The other scoffed. “Yeah, well, I still prefer Dr. Pepper over fruity drinks anyway.”

“Again,” the Cuban insisted, “no taste.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be brainstorming a song you don’t need? When I asked you if you wanted to work on the album, it was with recording and actual production in mind, hell even going over album details would be fine, just _not_ watching you stare at the ceiling and come up with creepy and terrible lines.” Keith huffed.

“Fine! Let’s brainstorm, then.” Lance sat up and removed his legs from the couch, turning instead to to cross them, and lean his back on the piece of furniture. He placed his notebook on the seat along with the pencil and completely looked away from Keith. “So, what do we want the album to be? What do we want it to _look_ like? _Sound_ like? What is the album _about_?”

“Aren’t _you_ supposed to--”

“Okay, Keith, I’m thinking _out loud_ and you tell me if my ideas are stupid or not, okay?” he interjected. “So, ever since I started dreaming about making an album, I’ve wanted it to have an emotional, honest, and kind of, like, intimate vibe. But not necessarily _romantic_ . I kind of want it to have a sort of… _nostalgic_ feel to it.”

He heard Keith hum, and he glanced to see him writing something down in Lance’s notebook. Okay, he didn’t give him permission to do that to his precious book but _fine_ , if it _helped_. “At first, I wanted it to have a lot of my roots in it. Like, you know, some Cuban elements or some family photographs or, uh, stuff. But since it’s my first album, I don’t think that’s a very smart idea.”

“Why not?”

Lance was about to continue talking before he realized Keith asked him a question. In all honesty, he had been speaking anything that came to mind-- he didn’t actually expect Keith to pay attention while he was writing things down. He turned to look at him. “W-Well, I mean, that’s too forward, isn’t it? Most people know me from _Dance With Me_ and, like, that’s a very different persona than the one that’d be on this album. I don’t think it’d be very successful.”

Keith hummed. “Well, it _is_ your first album. Wouldn’t it make sense to make it sort of, well, introductory? Yeah everyone knows _that_ song, but wouldn’t you rather they got to know the man behind the music?”

Lance looked away, an embarrassed blush on his cheeks. “I think it’s better if we play it safe for now. I think, then, that the _nostalgic_ aesthetic should be scrapped for something more modern, clean, kind of fun, but still emotional, you know?”

“Lance--”

“And, if that’s the case, we wouldn’t be able to include _Someday_ in it, but we’d definitely have to put in _Dance With Me_. It totally fits that vibe. So I’m thinking, like, maybe some really good beats and vocals, maybe we could even include a marimba in there, who knows? It’d be perfect, especially since it’s gonna be summer soon, and--”

Lance didn’t know he was rambling until he heard Keith crack open his second can of Dr. Pepper. When he glanced at him, he saw he hadn’t written anything of what he had just said down.

* * *

 

Keith gave him a ride home, probably since he had been the one that picked him up after classes in the first place.

Lance took home his songbook to write and brainstorm; the reason he did most of his creative work in the studio was because it was the perfect creative environment for him-- for some reason, he was always inspired in there. Of course, location wasn’t really _that_ important for his creativity. If anything, keeping his songbook there was safer. What would he do if all of his songs suddenly got released or leaked without his permission?

He shivered. Thinking about that made him uneasy.

There were few people he trusted with his Blue Lion-- lovingly dubbed because of the shitty lion doddle he had drawn on the cover in third grade-- so he’d have to get used to Keith’s hands all over it. It was like that when he met Rolo, his old editor, too. He was actually _very_ hesitant to trust him at first, but eventually things settled and they got along very well. Hunk could be trusted with anything, that went without question. Obviously his family could be trusted, too, and Allura, and Coran (who helped him with a lot of the songs on there in the first place). And if Adam asked he could probably take a peek. Maybe even Shiro, but he doubted that'd ever happen. Keith, however, was on thin ice.

He sat down on his couch, notebook spread open on his lap, pencil poised over the page Keith had left blank earlier. Next to it was the list of traits he had talked about _before_ his main idea, the _introductory album_ ones, scribbled in oddly-neat cursive. For some reason, he figured Keith’s handwriting would be scratchy and illegible. Apparently not.

He wrote down what he had envisioned earlier. He wanted something nice, clean, modern, somewhat mainstream; something that looked good and sounded good, easy to like, easier to follow. He could always figure out a way to make the songs he’s already written _more_ mainstream, maybe make them a little more electronic. Obviously he didn’t want full EDM, but… something sort of Dua Lipa-esque, minus the bland personality.

He sighed as he looked down at the ideas he had written. It wasn’t much, but it gave him a sort of guide. Now he just needed to deal with the technicalities, the songs, the music. When did he want the album to release? He supposed as soon as it was finished. He tried to calculate the time, accounting for his compulsive habit of re-recording songs over and over to get them just right. _I don’t think that’ll happen, though, if Keith’s on the team._

He hummed as he looked down at the page. _Why didn’t he write anything down earlier? I talked for a really long while. Maybe he just didn’t care that much._ But then, Lance frowned-- _he was the one that invited me out, so that doesn’t make any sense. This album can’t be completed without him-- he has to know that, right? So naturally he needs to put his part in. It’s his job._

 _My job is to keep producing music, collect the royalties, perform at the occasional gig or two. I used to do live performances a lot more often before school started getting serious, but as soon as I graduate…_ It was hard for Lance to balance gigs and university at the same time, so he cut back and started focusing on releasing singles and collecting royalties. It was much easier on him that way. So far he had managed to get good grades, which was a relief, but he knew he couldn’t take on too much.

Would releasing singles at the same time as he worked on an album work? Would he be able to manage that? At least he was sending out _Someday_ into the world before he started this bigger project, and since he was sure it’d be a hit, those royalties would probably help him keep afloat for a while. He hoped, anyway.

He guessed he’d just have to wait.

 

> **Lance McClain** _@lanceylance_
> 
> **“Stay tuned for when ‘Someday’ drops tonight at midnight! I’m soo excited!!”**
> 
> _5.2K Retweets -- 6.5K Likes_
> 
> -
> 
> **dumb bitch central** _@violentmemes_
> 
> **“stan lance mcclain!!”**
> 
> _330 Retweets -- 421 Likes_
> 
> -

 

He laughed to himself silently as he scrolled through his Twitter. It was nice to see people excited, even if he was a relatively small artist. Maybe _Someday_ would change that. Maybe.

He and Allura both agreed on releasing it at midnight just for the gag of it, since midnight releases were always fun and anticipated. He wouldn’t be awake for it, though, so he’d be able to confront whatever reactions people had to the song in the morning with a nice, clear mind. His 9 AM class took priority right now.

He got up to start on his nightly routine, and he slowly made his way towards his bathroom to turn on the shower. Deep in his belly was a vibrating, nervous feeling, and he quietly laughed to himself in his excitement.

* * *

When he woke up at 8 AM on Wednesday morning, sunlight streaming in gently through his window, he groaned as he checked his phone-- off, because he had forgotten to plug it in the night before. He huffed and connected it to the charger, then got up, stretching his long, lanky limbs.

He had a class in an hour, so he needed to get going _now_. Lance rubbed his tired, sleepy eyes and glared down at the vague, blurry image of his box of contacts. He wasn’t in a particularly bad mood, but for some reason he really didn’t feel like wearing any that day, so he picked up his glasses and put them on. When the room came into full focus, he scratched his head and continued with his routine.

He got dressed-- a pair of skinny jeans and a t-shirt, no jacket since he’d heard it was gonna be _especially_ hot that day -- and moved to put on his sneakers. Afterwards he’d wash his face and straighten his hair, maybe style it, but then he paused.

The apartment was quiet. Strangely quiet.

He poked his head out of his bedroom door and saw Hunk, who only had afternoon classes that day, sitting at the dining table with headphones on. _He must be listening to an audiobook or something,_ he thought, _always studying. He should take a break one of these days._

He shuffled over to the kitchen barefoot, completely forgetting about his shoes, and opened the fridge. The rest of his routine went ignored in favor of food. His stomach felt like a black hole with how empty it was and the dramatic part of him refused to let himself ignore it.

When he closed the fridge, carton of eggs in hand, he let out a scream as Hunk’s face appeared right next to his. “ _DUDE!_ I could’ve dropped the eggs!”

“Uh huh, yeah, okay, but instead you dropped a single and everyone’s going _nuts_. Have you checked your Twitter? Your Tumblr? Your Facebook?”

Lance leaned back as Hunk insisted, holding his phone to his chest, one earbud still in. He looked… crazed. “I, uh, I… no, I haven’t. It ran out of battery last night, I just plugged it in.”

“Dude, I got a call from Allura a while ago. She was asking why you weren’t picking up the phone.” Hunk explained. “She’s going nuts, too. Oh, and, uh, your breakfast is in the microwave.”

Lance slowly returned the carton to its rightful place. “Thank god.”

“But seriously, see if you can give her a call. Oh! And Keith, too, I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear the good news.”

He finished eating breakfast (french toast with syrup and butter, on god he should get Hunk a bouquet of flowers on his way home) and put on his sneakers, then grabbed his backpack and his phone and hurried out the door. The apartment he and Hunk shared was close enough to the university that he could walk and get there for his classes on time, which was convenient, but the walk was still about ten or fifteen minutes, and his class was gonna start in twenty.

His morning commute was like clockwork-- he went out the door, stuck in his headphones, and played the _Charting Now_ playlist on Apple Music. The morning was pleasant, not too humid, and the sun wasn’t bothersome. He most definitely wasn’t a morning person, though, and it showed in his general demeanor: on his usually gentle face was a deep, unpleasant frown. Until he heard it.

He was taken aback for a second, and he scrambled to turn on his phone as he checked whether he had accidentally opened some file and played the song or made some mistake or, or, or _something_. But no, his screen didn’t lie. There was the cover art for _Someday_ , a simple one-line drawing of a flower Allura had commissioned. He heard the piano play gently into his ears, sounding even better than before, and then the background violin joined in, and finally his voice.

_Charting Now._

Lance felt tears pool behind his eyes, and soon his vision blurred over again. This… this was amazing. _Someday_ was charting. And not just that, he learned as soon as he actually checked the Billboard ratings, it was charting at _#28_ , the highest he had ever gone.

This must have been what Allura had been trying to call him about. This must have been what Hunk was trying to say. And, when he got to class, he couldn’t even focus on the subject matter, because his mind was too high on happiness.

One text message _did_ manage to pull him out of his trance for a second.

 

> **Mullet Man**
> 
> **-**
> 
> **Mullet Man:** lance
> 
> **Mullet Man:** dude answer your phone
> 
> **Lance:** what do u want keith
> 
> **Mullet Man:** at what time do you have your lunch break
> 
> **Lance:** around like. 12:30
> 
> **Lance:** why
> 
> **Mullet Man:** meet me @ the university cafe
> 
> **Lance:** what why
> 
> **Lance:** is everything ok
> 
> **Lance:** keith.
> 
> **Lance:** dude,
> 
> -
> 
>  

When he finished his morning classes, he went straight for the university cafe, concerned for Keith’s safety. The guy couldn’t just send cryptic messages like that, his first immediate thought was that he was gonna tell him he was quitting or something.

One thing he noted was that Keith invited him to the cafe to eat, which was strange. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen him there before even though that's where he buys his lunch. _I’m sure I would’ve noticed an emo mullet._ _Then again, I never stay to eat. I always eat outside or wherever Hunk is._

When he walked in, he realized that no, he hadn’t been wrong or ignoring him the entire time. He just wasn’t there yet.

He got in line and grabbed a bag of chips and a bottle of water, then ordered his usual panini. Still no sign of Keith-- that is, until a hand came out of nowhere and blocked his just as he was handing the cashier the amount due. “I’ll treat you today,” Keith told Lance, “since we made it to the Top 40.”

A heavy blush overcame his features. His hand stuffed the cash he had been holding back in his pocket quickly (it wasn’t every day that someone pays for your lunch) and he gave the bored cashier an apologetic nod. Then, Keith led Lance to a table at the very corner, just out of sight of where Lance had been, where his stuff had already been set down. “Thanks, Keith.”

The other man shrugged. “Shiro made me waffles this morning. Figured I’d keep the chain going.”

Lance didn't know why he felt a little bit disappointed, but he ignored the feeling. Whatever. “So, uh, is everything okay between you and your brother now…?”

Unlike before, Keith didn’t glare at him or anything, but his eyes flickered away for a single second. “Yeah.”

“C-Cool, cool. So, um, what did you want to talk to me about?”

The other opened his mouth for a second before abruptly shutting it closed. Instead of speaking, he turned to dig into his bag and he pulled out his laptop, turning it to show audio editing software. He plugged in a pair of headphones into the aux outlet and offered him one. “I made some sample audios and beats for the album. Figured you’d want to hear them.”

Lance nodded quickly and put one of the earbuds in his right ear, while Keith put in the one on his left-- their heads were close together, but he didn’t mind. When Keith pressed play, he closed his eyes.

The music was soft and understated, but it sounded… _cold_ . He didn’t know how to describe it. It didn’t sound _sad_ , per se, it just sounded wrong. Like it didn’t quite fit. But he couldn’t find exactly what was wrong with it, not even the key. It just didn’t taste right. But it sounded kind of what he wanted the album to be: electronic and easy to get stuck in your head.

“What do you think?” Keith asked, and he was looking at Lance intently, expectantly.

“I like it,” he answered. “I like it a lot.”

Lance saw Keith’s eyebrows furrow just a millimeter, as if he hadn’t given him whatever answer he had been expecting. But then he heard one of the ladies behind the counter call out his name, so he quickly removed his earbud, mumbled a _be right back!_ and hurried to pick up his panini.

Just then, he whizzed by Nyma, who was about to pay at the counter, and he remembered Keith’s earlier action. Quickly, he dug into his pockets and placed them on the counter in front of her. “Don’t worry,” he said with a wink, “I’ve got it.”

The girl grinned in surprise. “Lance! Oh, you don’t have to do that--”

“I’ve had good luck today, might as well pass it on.” he replied.

“Oh, please, let me pay you back.” she insisted.

Lance shook his head as he picked up his sandwich from the other counter. “Don’t worry about it. Listen, how about you join me and my coworker and we call it even, yeah?”

Nyma offered him a dazzling smile. “That’d be great!”

He helped her carry her things over to the table, and when they arrived, he gave his grumpy editor an apologetic look. “Keith, this is Nyma. Nyma, this is Keith.”

In response, Keith offered a simple nod and a _hey_ before returning his attention to the screen. Lance noticed that his jaw was set slightly, but he ignored it for now. Nyma required attention  _immediately_ and he’d be damned if he didn’t take this opportunity and ran with it.

“It’s a good thing we ran into each other, Lance. I wanted to congratulate you on your new song. I listened to it, it was really good!” gushed Nyma. “And Keith, you’re his new, like, mixer, right?”

“Uh… yeah.” the man in question replied, and his eyes were slightly narrowed.

“Yeah, Lance mentioned it the other day.” she responded, and she continued eating. _I don’t remember that, but odds are I probably did. I don’t remember a lot of the things I say,_ Lance thought. “So it’s a congratulations to you, too! Great job.”

“Yeah, Keith is really good at editing and stuff,” Lance chimed in. “Have you checked out his channel?”

Nyma shook her head with that same beautiful smile from before. “No, actually, I haven’t! What’s it called? I’ll check it out later!”

While Lance exchanged the details with her, he glanced at Keith, who was staring at his screen with a burning intent-- but he didn’t necessarily look upset. If anything, the light blush on his cheeks gave away his embarrassment. He didn't say anything, either.

For the rest of the meal he had been silent, which Lance only realized after he saw that it was time to go to his next class. Nyma had also decided to leave the same time he did, and they walked together to his destination.

 _I kind of regret interrupting our mini-session like that, but after I saw Nyma, I just couldn’t help myself._ he thought during a particular lull in his conversation with her. Keith had just been sitting there like a rock, fiddling on his laptop, offering short answers whenever needed. _I’ll make up for it later. He bought me lunch, after all._

 

> **Mullet Man**
> 
> **-**
> 
> **Lance:** sorry about earlier! I hope inviting nyma didnt make you uncomfortable or anything
> 
> **Mullet Man:** its fine
> 
> **Lance:** anyway, i should pay you back for buying me lunch
> 
> **Mullet Man:** dont worry about it
> 
> **Lance:** are u sure? Bc i can totally pay like its no problem
> 
> **Mullet Man:** i said dont worry about it
> 
> **Lance:** yikes! Ok King
> 
> **Lance:** thanks again
> 
> **Mullet Man:** yw
> 
> **-**
> 
>  

Sensing that Keith wasn’t feeling the conversation, he quickly shut his phone off before class and took out his notebook. _Guess not. Whatever. If he wants to brood, he can brood._

When his mind went back to Nyma, he sighed. She was _so_ pretty, and she liked his music, and she was charismatic and cool, hell even her _lunch_ _order_ was cool-- a mango, peach, and lemonade smoothie with a fruit salad and an oatmeal raisin cookie. Only queens ordered that. _I should try that sometime. Wouldn’t it be cool if we ate the same lunch? What if we ate the same lunch_ together _?_

The lights in the lecture hall dimmed and he sat up straight, turning his full attention to the projector screen. _Okay, focus. Astronomy. Focus._

But even as the professor started explaining something about orbits, his mind drifted back to Nyma. _I should ask her out sometime soon._


	6. ... and the storm.

Ever since  _ Someday _ dropped, Lance’s social media had been going crazy.

His follower count jumped from a mere 50k to a staggering 750k. His Instagram noted a similar change, and his Facebook page was getting more hits than ever. It seemed that all he had needed was one good song, better than  _ Dance With Me _ , to make his second debut. Finally, he had one foot in the door.

One of the upsides of having so many followers was the incredible feeling of validation whenever he tweeted absolutely anything ever. For example,

 

> **Lance McClain** _ @lanceylance _
> 
> **“This morning I woke up crying because I had a dream I ran a farm and my top cow, who for some reason was named Kaltenecker, stood up and started tap dancing on my banjo collection. I think Keith’s had too much of an influence on me.”**
> 
> _ emocowboy.jpg _
> 
> _ 34k Retweets -- 45k Likes _

 

He’s had to watch his back recently, though-- he’s never tweeted anything remotely problematic, so that wasn’t the issue, but the mere mention of Keith left his replies looking like this for the most part:

 

> **Dina** _ @omaewamoshinderu _
> 
> **“Who is keith king… and can i get his number”**
> 
> _ 650 Retweets -- 700 Likes _

 

Well, whatever. It’s not like he minded very much. People could think what they wanted. One person’s opinion, however, mattered very much to him. In fact, he’d been itching to text her for the past two days.

He wanted to get to know Nyma better, that was for sure. She was so beautiful and funny and cool that he couldn’t help being just magnetically drawn to her. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this way about anyone before, not even the girls he had been talking to in high school. It was like he just  _ felt _ she was someone important.

Or maybe he was entirely nuts and projecting his years of loneliness and hopeless romanticism on her. It was perfectly plausible!

He knew she was gonna be busy for the rest of the week, but it couldn’t hurt to shoot his shot, right?

 

> **Nyma ❤❤❤**
> 
> -
> 
> **Lance:** hi nyma! hope im not bothering you while youre busy, but i was wondering if u wanted to come over tonight? i was planning on sitting down and writing some songs-- maybe you could help me over some mango smoothies?
> 
> -
> 
>  

It took a while for her to reply, and for a second he was about to give up and block her, pretend he never met her, move schools and apartments and change his name. He was filled with an overwhelming sense of dread, like she was about to grab his shot and just obliterate it.

But then,

 

> -
> 
> **Nyma:** i’d love to! I’m free around 7-- is that cool?
> 
> **Lance:** totally! I’ll see you then!!
> 
> -

 

It was 4 PM now; he had about three hours to clean his room, make smoothies, get prepped and brainstorm a way to keep her entertained for a while. Writing songs with him was  _ boring _ , Keith had proven that to him, so there was no way they’d enjoy themselves with him pulling weird poses and thinking out loud. Maybe a movie? Or, wait, he could invite her out to eat later! He had the money, right?  He dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.  _ Shit, nevermind. No dining out. Pizza it is, then. _

He sighed as he paced around his bedroom; he was starting to get anxious. Why did he ask her out? What kind of energy had overtaken him? Surely it had been a product of his hubris-- his follower count blew him close to the sun, and the flying part he had to figure out on his own. This was gonna end in disaster, he felt it in his heart that he’d crash into the ocean.

Okay, yeah, he was being  _ way _ too dramatic.

He left his room to sit down in the living room, arguably the cleanest area of the house thanks to Hunk, and stared at the TV, which he hadn’t turned on yet. He just… needed to cool his jets. Everything was gonna be fine, right? He’s been hitting it off with Nyma so far. How much harder could an actual date be?

Around three hours later, when his doorbell rang, he realized just how difficult it could be.

She looked amazing, and she wasn’t even all that dressed up. She had on jeans, a cropped shirt, and a denim jacket-- her hair was now in tiny braids that she had pulled into a ponytail, and her eyes were accented with sharply winged liner. She looked gorgeous-- Lance was absolutely stunned. “H-Hey!”

“Hey!” She greeted him with a kiss to the cheek, the kind of faux cheek-touch he’d always do with family and close friends. Still, the butterflies in his stomach went nuts. “You look good.”

“You too!” he responded, and he closed the front door behind her.  _ Oh my god, what am I gonna do? What am I gonna do? She looks so good and she’s so cool and-- _

“Ooh, nice place!”

Lance followed her as she looked around, hands on her hips. “Very nice. I know you live with your friend Hunk, right? You mentioned him! Where is he?”

_ Oh my god, she’s such a good listener. _ “Oh, he’s actually hanging out with our friend Pidge right now.”

“Oh, okay. That’s cool.” she gave him a look that he understood for only half a second-- the kind of  _ We’re alone _ insinuation that made his cheeks burn. “So… you mentioned mango smoothies?”

“O-Oh! Yes, right.” Lance dashed into the kitchen and grabbed two tall cups. He quickly poured the smoothie he had previously made before she arrived into the glasses, and then stuck the special twisty straws he reserved for special events into the liquid. “Two mango smoothies!”

“Aww, Lance, that’s so cute!” she exclaimed, and she took one of the glasses gratefully. She brought the twisty straw to her red-painted lips and closed her eyes as she tasted the smoothie-- Lance couldn’t help but stare. Even while drinking she looked amazing. “It’s so good!”

“Yeah? I’m glad.” he answered, and he sipped from his. “So! Lately, um, I’ve had to work really hard and brainstorm a lot because production for my new album finally got approved.”

Nyma grinned at him as he continued. “But, _ugh_ , for some reason I’ve just been _so_ uninspired. It’s like, I already have this set vision in mind for what I want the album to be, but the music and the songs just don’t… come out. You know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean,” she answered, and she scooted a little closer. “Is that your songbook?”

Nyma pointed at a black notebook he had brought out for the express purpose of her visit. He wasn’t dumb enough to show just anyone his life’s work, but he  _ did _ want her help. “Uh, no, it’s just a spare notebook I’m using for now. I’m always misplacing things, so I try to keep my songbook in one place if I can. Last time I lost it was… god, it was terrifying.”

The girl laughed. “Yeah, that sounds fair. Shall we get to work?”

“Yeah!”

They spent about an hour humming melodies, and Lance promptly found out that Nyma wasn’t any good at music. Like, at all. Thankfully she had a good sense of humor and poked fun at herself about it--  _ God, I sound like a broken recorder! _ Still, Lance enjoyed her company. Writing songs was fun with someone else to bounce ideas with, and she certainly made the time worthwhile.

Eventually they retreated to his room, where he had his keyboard, and they got a lot more progress done there. He ended up with a cool melody that he wrote down in the black notebook, and Nyma seemed to love it. He was glad they were enjoying themselves.

They ended up on his bed, sprawled next to each other, facing up at his ceiling. He had a bunch of those tiny little glow-in-the-dark stars glued up there, but since the lights were on in his bedroom, they couldn’t really see them very well. “Do you like stars?” Nyma asked, and she turned to look at him. “They’re kind of pretty.”

“Yeah.” he said. “When I lived in Cuba, I used to sneak out to the roof around midnight and just look up at the sky. It was really nice.”

“That’s cool.” she responded. “Reminds me of my little brother.”

“Really?” He turned his head and met her eyes with a smile. “Damn, can’t believe I just got brother-zoned.”

Nyma laughed, gentle and musical.  _ Nevermind, _ he thought,  _ if she came out with an album of just her laughter, I’d buy it in an instant. _ “You didn’t get brother-zoned.”

“Yeah?” he glanced down at her lips, which were still painted red _ (Damn, what lipstick is she using?) _ and he licked his own. 

“Yeah.” Nyma seemed to move closer for a second, her eyes half-lidded, and Lance was feeling the moment. Their lips were just about to meet, and then --

**_DING! DONG! DING!_ **

Lance groaned and stood up, stomping over to the front door. Who the hell was interrupting his peaceful evening  _ now _ ? Of all times? While he was about to make out with the cutest girl he had ever met--?

It was Keith. 

Lance would’ve gotten mad. He would’ve blown up and refused to see him, slammed the door and immediately zoomed back to his bedroom. However, his eyes were puffy and red and he seemed to be shaking. His fists were clenched at his side, and his right hand’s knuckles were slightly bloodied. “K-Keith! Are you okay?” he asked. This time, the other didn’t barge in. In fact, he was completely silent. “Come in, dude.”

Keith stepped inside, and Lance watched as he brought his left palm to his left eye, rubbing it hard. “Sorry, I… didn’t know where else to go.”

“Is everything alright?” Lance asked, and he placed his hand on Keith’s right shoulder gently. “Talk to me.”

The mood of the entire evening soured, but Lance didn’t think that was very important right now. Here was stoic, brooding, angry Keith coming to his apartment, eyes clearly irritated from  _ crying _ \-- what other choice did he have? He could only assume the other was stone-faced because it was hard for him to express himself.. so he couldn't mess this up. He had to be rational and supportive. 

Since Keith didn’t answer, Lance took matters into his own hands-- literally. He grabbed his right arm and saw him wince, but forced his clenched fist to relax. The blood on his right hand was slightly fresh but mostly dry, and it seemed like all of it was his. He probably punched some _ thing _ , not some _ one _ . He was frustrated. “Keith, please tell me what happened.”

“Someone… got access to my account on YouTube. I don’t know how but they did it but they did, and I can’t access it anymore, and everything’s been deleted. It’s gone. There’s nothing.” he responded. His voice sounded dry and scratchy.

Lance felt his own heart break. Keith didn’t have any other social media with a similar amount of followers to his channel-- as far as he was concerned, the only way people knew about his work was through his channel. The only way people could reach out to him, listen to his music, know what was happening… he only had his channel. His _only exposure_ was his channel. And now it was gone. “Keith, I’m so sorry. Have you contacted someone about this? Maybe YouTube support can…?”

The other shook his head and sat down on the couch, both of his hands wiping down his face. He seemed so tired. “I tried, but… I’m not getting any response. I don’t think there’s anything I can do.”

Lance sat down next to him and grabbed his right hand. “Listen. I’ll help you fix this, okay? I know how important your channel was to you. We’re gonna make things right.” he said. “But first, I’m gonna get you some bandages, okay?”

Keith stared at their hands, his face red, before nodding slowly. “Y-Yeah.”

The Cuban stood up and walked over to the kitchen, where the medicine cabinet was above the fridge. “How’d you do that to your hand, anyway?” he asked.

“Uh, well, I punched a wall.” Keith answered, and Lance just laughed.

“Sounds like something you’d do.” he responded. He dug around for a couple more minutes before sighing. “Uh, I don’t think the bandages are here. I think they’re actually in the hall bathroom. Would you mind getting them? They’re probably under the sink.”

“Uh, yeah, no problem.”

Keith stood up and slowly made his way to the hallway-- he figured it was the door at the very end of the hall, so he reached for the doorknob. Just before he turned it, he heard a sound coming from the room beside him.

He knew for a fact Hunk wasn’t home since Pidge had mentioned hanging out with him earlier. Did somebody break in?

Instead of going into the bathroom, he opened the door of the bedroom where he had heard the noise, and froze. There was that girl from before, Nyma, standing at Lance’s desk, where she was taking pictures of his blue songbook. She had a bored expression on her face, but when she saw him come in, she smirked.

“Hey there, Keith.” she greeted, and she tucked her phone into her back pocket. He watched as she closed Lance’s book and tucked it back in the drawer where it had probably originally been. “How’s it going?”

“Why were you taking pictures of Lance’s book?” he asked, and suddenly he didn’t feel so broken up about his channel anymore. He clenched his fists again, ignoring the pain in his right hand.

“Nothing important,” she responded simply. “I’m doing a favor for a friend. I’m sure Lance wouldn’t mind-- he invited me to help him work, after all.”

His eyes narrowed. “What friend? What are you talking about?”

The girl laughed, and it was nothing like before. It was mean, and dark, and it grated against his ears. “It doesn’t matter who. Don’t go digging around things you don’t understand, yeah? Or you might lose something more important than your channel.”

The man froze. She had to have something to do with his channel being hacked, he knew it. Who the hell had Lance let into his home? “Fuck you.”

“Hmm, I don’t think I’m the one you’d like to fuck, am I?” she mocked. “I’m sure _Lance_ is more your type.”

_ Fuck this entire situation _ , he thought, and he turned around and left the room. He walked past Lance, who had been about to check on him in the bathroom, and ignored the defeated look on his face. “K-Keith, what’s wrong?”

“I’m going home,” he had mumbled. “It’s fine. I’ll talk to you later.”

Lance watched as he stormed out the entrance, slamming the door behind him, and he cringed.  _ What happened? _

Just then, Nyma walked up behind him and put her arm around his shoulder. “Was that Keith just now? I thought I'd heard his voice.”

“Yeah, it was.” Lance answered.  _ Something’s gotta be seriously wrong.  _

“I hope he’s okay.” she added. “C’mon, there’s no use in worrying over something we can’t control. Let’s just get back to having fun, yeah?”

They went back to his bedroom, however Lance couldn’t keep his mind off Keith for the rest of the evening. He had never seen him look so sad, so defeated, and then so… angry. No, that wasn’t the right word. Frustrated? Upset?

He thinks Nyma noticed how much Keith had affected him, and that’s why she decided to leave earlier than expected-- made some excuse about  _ Oh, I have an assignment to work on due Sunday _ and left. 

As he transferred the stuff he had written on the black notebook into his songbook, his mind kept drifting back to Keith’s eyes. They didn’t look angry now that he was thinking about it, or frustrated, or even just upset. He looked _humiliated,_ he looked  _hurt._  

  
He felt a deep hole form in the pit of his stomach.  _ He looked like he was about to cry. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry about the short chapter and about how late it is!! i was working on a oneshot (?) for that new leakira au thats been going around and it took QUITE a bit out of me sksksk
> 
> anyway you can check it out here actually:https://archiveofourown.org/works/15712176/chapters/36520239
> 
> stay tuned for the next chapter!!!!! thank u so much for ur patience and support!!!


	7. the aftermath.

When Lance woke up that next Saturday morning, he didn’t feel like checking his phone for some reason. The sunlight streaming in through his window felt pleasant, and he was content with just laying in bed for a while and letting the calm of the morning ease his worries from the night before.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t concerned for Keith. He had come to his doorstep, red-eyed from crying, knuckles bloodied from punching a wall after having found out his channel had been taken down. Then he left, stormed out, even after Lance had promised to help him restore his channel. Nyma, apparently, hadn’t known Keith had entered the apartment that time, which he could believe-- but something had been off about the way he left. Something was wrong.

_ It couldn’t hurt to check in with him, right? Just… two bros being bros. _

He picked up his phone and turned on the screen, but felt his heart stop at the notifications.

 

> _ 12 Missed Calls from Mi Reina _
> 
> _ 8 Missed Calls from Coran The Man _
> 
> _ 8 iMessages from Pidgers _
> 
> _ 4 iMessages from Mullet Man _
> 
> _ 690 Twitter Notifications _
> 
> _ 847 Instagram Notifications _

 

“What the hell?” he whispered to himself.  _ Did the world end or something?  _ Immediately, he checked Keith’s messages first-- he most certainly wasn’t a talkative person, so  _ four _ messages was a big surprise.

 

> **Mullet Man**
> 
> **-**
> 
> **Mullet Man:** lance 
> 
> **Mullet Man:** wake the fuck up dude
> 
> **Mullet Man:** allura is blowing her shit
> 
> **Mullet Man:** someone leaked shit about your album

 

Lance felt his heart stop.  _ What? _ What was there to  _ post? _ They hadn’t even begun production on his album, they hadn’t  _ recorded _ anything, all they had was notes and ideas and a couple of melodies, how the  _ hell _ could they have leaked anything?

 

> **Pidgers**
> 
> **-**
> 
> **Pidgers:** lance what the fuck
> 
> **Pidgers:** keith called me
> 
> **Pidgers:** dude i found the account thats posting the leaks 
> 
> **Pidgers:** im gonna try to find out who they are
> 
> **Pidgers:** but im gonna try and take down the posts first
> 
> **Pidgers:** keith is freaking out dude what did you DO?? who did you piss off???

 

Oh my god. Oh my god, what the hell? Just when his career was starting to take off, his album was  _ leaked _ ? But what the hell could be  _ leaked _ ? There was _nothing_ _ there _ yet! 

He couldn’t breathe. The air was becoming heavy, his chest hurt, his stomach felt like it was eviscerating itself and he felt hot, so hot, like he was gonna burn up and pass out. This wasn’t happening. He couldn’t be having an anxiety attack  _ now _ of all times, not when he needed to do damage control. 

Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit him. Immediately he stood up and ran for the bathroom, kneeling at the toilet and hacking up the mediocre mango smoothie he had made the night before. He did this to himself. He doesn’t know how he did, but he did. Pidge was right, he must’ve pissed  _ someone _ off, but he couldn’t think of who at that moment. He couldn’t think of anything.

What did he do? What  _ could _ he do?

He heard footsteps, and suddenly Hunk was crouching behind him, asking if he was okay and if he needed to call someone. Lance could barely hear him-- his ears were ringing, everything felt kind of fuzzy and underwater -- but he shook his head. No, he just needed to clear his head. He just needed to calm down. 

Once he finished emptying absolutely everything out of his stomach, he moved for the sink and rinsed his mouth, then began brushing his teeth. He couldn’t dwell on things now. There wasn’t a point to it. He had to stop shaking, get dressed, and go to Allura’s. He had to.

But he kept dropping his toothbrush, and then he started crying, and Hunk was back at his side.

“Lance, Lance, relax,” his best friend cooed, and Lance clung to him. “It’s okay, it’s okay, just breathe. Please just breathe, otherwise you’re gonna hyperventilate.”

His head hurt. His whole body hurt. Honestly, he felt like he was about to die. With both of his hands he covered his mouth and dimly registered Hunk’s big arms around him-- he couldn’t even make a single sound. His shoulders rose and fell in time with his heavy, labored breathing. His lungs couldn’t get enough air. There wasn’t enough air around him. What was this, the Himalayas? 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay.” 

Lance felt a hand rub circles on his upper back, and slowly, slowly he started to ground himself. He tried to do what he always did when an anxiety attack was particularly bad and tried to analyze his surroundings. What was one thing he could touch? One thing he could smell? One thing he could see?

Eventually, his attack faded away. It was at that point that Hunk led him back over to his bed and sat down with him, not wanting to let him go. 

Lance didn’t stop crying for a while.

* * *

When he _did_ stop crying, it was to take a shower and get ready to head down to the office, where Allura would be waiting for him. He hadn’t bothered to call or text back, because he knew that as soon as he did he’d start crying. So, when he arrived at the studio, he was met with Adam's surprised face.

“Woah. Hey, Lance.” the man greeted, and he didn’t lift his mug this time. He looked… concerned. “You alright there, buddy?”

Lance shook his head and rested his arms on the counter, resting his chin on his forearms. “No. I feel like shit.”

“Hey, it’s alright, dude. Keith was the same way when he came in an hour ago. Everybody was trying to reach you like crazy.” he said. 

“It’s all my fault.” he mumbled, and he bit his bottom lip, trying desperately not to cry again. “I fucked up. I don’t know how, but I did.”

“We all make mistakes, buddy.” Adam said, and he leaned forward to ruffle his short hair. “Sometimes you just need to take a step back, recollect, and then get up and fix it. And there’s no shame in being sad while you’re doing it.”

The younger sighed and tiredly rubbed his eyes. “Yeah. Alright. Thanks, Adam.”

“Go talk to the boss. Face this head-on, and you’ll grow from it. I promise.” 

With that, Lance trudged slowly towards the elevator, feeling his nerves start to snake their way down his back. He was tired. He was tired and sad and nervous and he  _ knows _ it’s his fault. He had eventually found the leaks despite most of them having been reported or deleted, and saw that they were screenshots of lyrics written on the Notes app of an iPhone. And there were a lot of them.

How they acquired them, he had no clue. The only people that currently had access to his songbook were him, Keith, Coran, Allura, and… that’s it. No one else. He obviously wasn’t gonna suspect Coran or Allura, and Keith was also out of the question, if Pidge’s texts had anything to say about it. Not to mention he had no motive; they got along much better now, and he had his own problems what with his channel being deleted.

When he arrived at the third floor, he was immediately greeted by Coran, who had a solemn expression. He hadn’t seen his manager for a while, since apparently he had been busy figuring something out about a merchandise idea he’d had, so seeing him present for the leak of his album made his blood run cold. This was serious. “Hello, my boy. How are you feeling?”

The older man knew perfectly well about Lance’s anxiety and the attacks that often came to him about things like this. During his first year away from home, having Coran as his manager was a blessing from above. He was practically like his second father figure, so of course he’d gladly take whatever comfort he could get from him. “Not… not great.”

“It’s alright, Lance,” he said, and he gently patted his back, leading him towards Allura’s office. “These sort of things happen all the time. It’s unusual for them to happen to someone who doesn’t have that large of a following, but we’re thinking of looking into this anyway. It caused you great distress, didn’t it?”

Silently, he nodded.  _ Doesn’t matter if these things happen all the time, _ he thought to himself bitterly,  _ she’s totally gonna cancel the album. _

“Talk to Allura. She’ll be able to fill you in on everything. Keith is there, too, if you’d like to talk with him as well.” he said. When they reached the glass doors of his producer’s office, he refused to make eye contact with her and instead looked at Coran. “I’ll be in my office, okay?”

Lance nodded, and he turned to see Allura opening her office doors for him. On her face was an empathetic but worried look. “Come in,  _ Lonce _ .”

He swallowed and entered, sitting down beside Keith, who refused to look at him.  _ But--? _ “I’ve gone over the details of what happened with Keith, and I think we have a pretty good timeline of events. At around 8:47 AM an account named  _ m4n60$m007h13s  _ uploaded three posts, all of which had ten pictures each of lyrics for your songs. Pidge managed to get that account taken down, but many people caught wind of the lyrics and began to spread them--”

Lance felt like throwing up again.

“-- and then Pidge promptly went after them, as well. Many accounts were deleted and posts were taken down, but we’re not sure if all of the leaked content was destroyed. It most likely wasn’t. Either way, she could not quite find out who leaked the photos as the phone number they had associated with the account was a burner line, and there was no verifiable email connected, either. An I.P. address couldn’t be found, strangely enough. However, this is not the only matter we need to look into,” she said, and she turned to look at Keith. “Your channel was deleted last night, correct?”

The other nodded, but he didn’t make eye contact. 

“I think the two events have something to do with each other. And, in that case, we need to think of someone who has a vendetta against not just Lance, but Keith as well. So who would be upset enough at the  _ both _ of you to delete your channel and leak his music?”

Lance closed his eyes. He could think of plenty of people that’d hate him enough to leak his music, but come after Keith, too? Somehow, his anxiety and dread began to slowly ebb away into anger. They could do anything to Lance, sure, but he didn’t want to see Keith on the verge of tears anymore. He doesn't think he'd be able to take it, especially since he wasn't in the right mindset to offer support. Then, it hit him-- and he looked at Allura with wide eyes, who seemed to come to the same conclusion as he had. “ _ Rolo _ .”

Immediately Allura began to type away on her computer, manicured nails  _ clack-clack-clacking _ away on the keyboard. “Wait, who’s Rolo?” Keith asked, and he turned to look at Lance.  _ His eyes are still a bit red, _ the Cuban dimly registered.

“He’s the mixer that worked for us before you joined. We got along pretty well, but we fired him kind of abruptly when Allura found out about you.” Lance answered. He combed his hair back with his hand, the brown strands sticking up everywhere. “It’s gotta be him. But… some of the songs that were leaked I wrote  _ after _ he left. Did he stop by recently or something?”

Allura turned her screen to show him a picture of the front desk logbook entries from yesterday. In the third row, at around 3 PM was Rolo’s signature-- signed in at 3:15, signed out at 3:25. Ten minutes. “That’s when he came in. Adam said he thought it was weird for him to stop by, but he said something about forgetting a hat or something. Doesn’t matter. This is when he must’ve accessed the studio and gotten your songbook, maybe signed into Keith’s Google account on the company’s computer and erased his channel.”

Lance shook his head. “My songbook wasn’t at the studio yesterday. I had it at home because I’ve been brainstorming ideas. But as far as I know, nobody’s accessed it. I keep it tucked away in my desk underneath a bunch of other notebooks.”

“Did you have anybody over at your apartment recently?” Allura asked, and she glanced at Keith for just a moment.

“I mean… I invited my friend Nyma over yesterday. We just hung out in the living room.” Lance made sure to leave out the part about Keith running to his apartment, not wanting the other to feel embarrassed or ashamed.

“Nyma?” Allura asked. Lance watched as she narrowed her eyes and stared at the wall behind Lance. “Why… does that name sound familiar?” She turned again to her computer and typed away, this time moving much faster than before. Then she turned her screen to the other two again. There, in fullscreen, was a picture of Rolo, Lance’s ex-mixer, with Nyma on his lap and a cloud of smoke around them. Lance wanted to gag. 

“Rolo’s associate. She must’ve found your songbook, snapped pictures, and forwarded them to him. I knew I'd heard her name somewhere.” Allura finished. She sat back and brought her hand to her forehead, rubbing her temples. “We’re gonna have to take legal action.”

Lance paled. Sure he felt bad about the entire situation, but was it enough to potentially ruin their lives? As it was, he was having trouble processing the fact that it was  _ Nyma _ that leaked his songs. How? Why? What kind of motive…?

He looked at the picture of her and Rolo again, and remembered how they met. Had that been planned? Did she even go to his university? Of course she wasn’t interested in him, that much was obvious-- but how much was real and how much was a lie? What kind of person did something like that?

He leaned forward and held his head with his hands, elbows on his knees. He didn’t want to think about this anymore. He just… wanted to sleep. Sleep for a good, long while. “Lance, you’re going to have to make a statement about the leaks on your social media so that when the album drops the sales don’t plummet.”

He looked up. “The album is still on?”

His producer gave him a funny look. “I-- what? Of course it is. You just won’t be able to use the leaked songs on it.”

Lance frowned, but it was better than nothing. At least they hadn’t leaked  _ everything. _ “Y-Yeah, alright. Okay. Thanks.”

The woman reached across the desk and motioned for his hand, which he gave. She squeezed his palm, firm but calming. “Everything will be fine. Your fanbase is loving and understanding. They’ll wait as long as it takes for your album, I’ve already seen messages of support and encouragement. And we’re all with you.”

Lance’s eyes flickered to Keith, who had been staring at him silently, for just a fraction of a second. “Thanks, Allura.”

“Now… go home and do some damage control. Keith, we can figure out how to deal with your channel issue tomorrow, if you’d like.”

Keith was about to speak before Lance stepped in. “Actually, Allura, I was hoping I could help out with his channel, too.” he said-- and he was surprised at himself for volunteering.  “I figured it’s the least I could do.”

His producer grinned at him, but her eyes had a glint to them that hadn’t been there before. He didn't like it. “Alright, then… that’s settled. Thanks again for coming! You two have a good day, now.”

She waved them off, and Lance looked on with confusion before shrugging and turning to leave. He felt substantially better, but still not great. He needed to talk to Nyma and find out why she did what she did, who she really was. He didn’t necessarily want her to be arrested or take her to court, much less Rolo who he had actually been  _ close _ with. 

Now that he thought about it…  _ had _ they been close? In his memoires, Rolo was his friend. He was an awesome mixer who listened to his problems, who liked the music he made, who was easy to get along with and who he had thought was trustworthy. Had all of that just been in his head the entire time?

He snapped out of his thoughtful trance when he realized he found himself in the elevator with Keith again, the both of them on opposite ends of the small space, not looking at each other. For some reason, he felt the urge to keep Keith around. The idea of being on bad terms with him wasn't appealing anymore-- not as it had been in the beginning of their partnership. Even with a bitter taste in his mouth, he spoke. “Keith, are we… are we friends?”

The other looked at him with wide eyes. He clearly hadn’t been expecting that kind of question. “I--... yeah. Yeah, Lance. We’re friends.” he answered. He kept staring at the other curiously, but then he looked away. “If this is about that Rolo guy, or that Nyma girl… I don’t think anyone that truly cared about you would have done that.”

Lance sighed. “Yeah, I… I know that. I just wish I hadn’t been so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Keith answered almost immediately, and he was looking at him again, but this time much more intensely. “Nyma was a convincing actress. I saw her myself. I fell for her act, too. If Rolo’s any similar, I don’t blame you for believing and trusting them. If you’re at fault, so am I.”

The air fell into silence again. Lance didn’t know what to say.

The two exited the elevator and left the building, but this time Keith went straight for his bike and walked back to him with a second helmet. “I’m taking you home.”

In response, Lance smiled weakly. “Thanks, Keith.”

When the other started up the engine and they both had their helmets on, he heard his voice come in from the communicator in the helmets. He didn't know if he was imagining it or what, but it almost sounded sad. “What are friends for?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its a quarter past midnight  
> as we cut through the city  
> yeah yeah yeah   
> the streets are getting restless   
> good times, bad decisions  
> yeah yeah yeah   
> its a quarter past midnight  
> and the sirens are mending some hearts  
> but we're the losers on our back seats  
> singing "love will tear us apart"
> 
> cue-- my favorite scene to write in this entire work is coming up soon

**Author's Note:**

> HOPE YOU ENJOYED THAT!!  
> HMU ON TWITTER @VIOLENTMEMES


End file.
